The windows taking bets were slammed shut in sequence cutting patrons off and forcing them to shuffle out to the track. There was a dirt track outside, well worn at this point, about a mile and half long. Iron stands were erected on either side of the track. It seemed to be made from the fencing that used to surround the property. Further beyond the stands toward the cliff face was stood a large barn with separated stalls. The sun was slowly moving its way toward the other side of the plateau and large poles with metal umbrellas began to shine down mage light. The trumpeter blasted out another few notes and Volkswagen sized dogs complete with riders began lumbering their way out of the barn.

Deacon took all of this in as he followed the crowd from the main house. To his right Frankilo emerged from a separate door and jogged down a flight of stairs attached to the metal stands. He posted himself next to the railing that ran around the track separating the spectators from the action. Several other robed priests joined him as they all prayed over the proceedings. Then when they were done, in unison, the priests all swiped their hands down and the race was on. The dogs all had painted numbers on vests they were wearing. For the most part they looked like a pack of bulldogs speeding their way around the track.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” asked a strange man in a dark suit standing next to Deacon.

“I wouldn’t say it’s beautiful. It’s eight dogs running in dirt. Not really my scene, especially since I don’t have a dog in this race,” Deacon snickered, mostly to himself knowing that wasn’t the correct phrasing.

“It’s dog in the fight and horse in this race. You earthlings and your wordplay,” the man said.

A chill ran down Deacon’s spine at the mention of Earth and he turned to fully face this person. The suit was almost too black, and his hair was a dirty blonde, then it was a dark red, and finally changing to light brown. It was shoulder length before tightening up to just behind his ears. But it was his face that really bothered Deacon. There was no end to his mouth, it seemed to go all the way around his head like South Park character. Then he hit Deacon with an all too familiar grin.

“Yea well, dog fights are frowned upon on Earth. So Chimera, in the flesh?” Deacon asked.

“None other. My temple, my worshipers, my seat of power. Obviously only you can see me, but I can manifest here now that I have a foothold on the Mortal Plane,” commented Chimera.

“Neat trick with the hair. Any special reason for your visit or did you just want to some people lose their money?” Deacon questioned while quirking one eyebrow ridge.

“Today is a very important day, my champion. I wanted to be here in person to see it,” responded Chimera.

A bell started ringing loudly as the winner crossed the finish line. Number five stood proud as a garland of flowers was draped around its neck. His rider tossed up a hunk of meat that the big dog snapped right out of the air. The other racers were lead back to the barn to prepare for the next race.

“ I won! Praise be to Chimera!” yelled one of the people in the stands.

At the exact same time Deacon received a prompt from his slate.

Quest Complete: Grow the Flock- Create two hundred followers for Chimera, create two priests of Chimera to lead them. Two hundred of two hundred followers reached. Two of two Priests. Rewards; New class ability- Dead Man’s Parade.

Dead Man’s Parade- Expel all remaining soul energy in a three hundred and sixty degree sphere. The resulting release of energy will take the form of sprinting humanoid souls that will latch onto anything they come in contact with. They will then detonate causing a soul energy explosion that damages their targets equal to the amount of soul energy expunged. This is a Phantasm Knight ability scaled down for Nether Monks by the god Chimera.

That’s when Deacon remembered the other notification, he dismissed a few hours ago before arriving back at the Plateau.

New Skill Learned: Hóu Quán, Monkey Style Kung Fu- You were trained in the martial art of Hóu Quán by none other than the monkey king himself. This grants you plus two levels in the fighting style. Only through continuous practice can you hope to achieve mastery of this fighting art.

“Wait a second, you tailor made this class ability for me?” asked Deacon.

“Well the Phantasm Knights have greater control over spirits, and your class is only meant to guide them. It required a little tweaking. It helps a lot that you have rule breaker. The change was minor enough that were no ill effects. Now that this little matter is concluded. I need you to finish what you started back at the Shattered Sky. Also remember, that if your soul energy should drop to zero percent and your passenger is set loose, we will have to take action. Have fun,” responded Chimera before dissolving into smoke and oddly enough, hopping bunnies.

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Deacon thought that was some exit before he felt a dagger press into his back. It was quickly removed and jabbed back into him several times before Deacon heard a voice.

“You are known. The empire will have its revenge!” yelled the would be assassin.

“Deacon!” screamed Frankilo whose eyes met the champion’s as he grew closer.

The assassin didn’t take the time to check his blade. He simply turned to run for the door. Unfortunately for him, the door through to the exit of the building was blocked by two robed priests of Chimera. They each pulled out a small lantern from within their drooping sleaves. The glass on the lanterns all had different images of beasts or people fighting. The lanterns began to spin as the assassin rushed them. One lantern stopped spinning and a light poured from one of its glass surfaces. Snakes leapt from the lantern like ale from the uncorked bottom of a barrel, engulfing the assassin and bringing him to the ground. The second lantern lit up an image of a torture rack. The ground beneath the assassin cracked as his hands and feet were manacled to a long pitted wooden table. The snakes were biting the assailant repeated while the table began to stretch out his limbs.

Frankilo made it over to Deacon and performed a healing prayer over him. He realized too late that there was nothing wrong with Deacon. In fact the prayer even let him know that Deacon was the picture of health. That earned Deacon a raised eyebrow as Frankilo patted at his bare back where the knife wound should have been.

“Mundane weapon. I’m protected from those. Let’s keep that a secret and play this off like you saved my life. Okay?” Deacon said as he pantomimed getting up with Frankilo’s help.

“Blessings of Chimera no doubt. It is good to see you, my friend. As you can see, we transformed this previously unholy land into a bastion for Chimera’s flock. We have races four times a day and all who wish to worship are welcome. Unfortunately, we do have to deal with the faithless from time to time. Chimera always protects his faithful. Not knowing how, is part of the fun,” Frankilo preached as he walked Deacon up the stairs into his office.

Once settled in Frankilo’s modest office, Deacon stopped pretending he was injured. He looked around and spotted a large book laying on a podium to the right of small desk. On the desk was quill and ink as well as some loose papers. Behind the chair was a stained glass window depicting a grin with two rolling dice under it.

“I’m short on time but I did want to check in with you and see how things were progressing. I see you’ve obtained some junior priests for the church. That’s great. Those lanterns are no joke,” Deacon stated.

“Yes, we made them ourselves. A some of the slaves you freed wanted to thank Chimera with service to his holy works. Several of our parishioners had trade skills before being enslaved. Two of them were glass smiths. I procured a glass furnace for the east wing thanks to your generous development account. Now masterpieces like the window behind me can be made,” explained Frankilo.

“Glass furnace, you say. The Adventurers Guild is running low on potion vials. Anyway we can use some of your people’s time. Let’s say, a case a week?” Deacon asked leaning forward.

“I think we can do better than that. I will instruct the glass smiths to take apprentices. With the extra hands we will deliver two cases a week to the guild,” replied Frankilo before ringing a little bell. Shortly thereafter a young boy scampered in through a side door. Frankilo whispered something to him, and the boy ran off. Two minutes later a Canidae wearing a heavy leather apron and eye protection stepped into the room.

“You sent for me, your holiness?” said the dog man. He had floppy ears and golden singed hair.

“Yes Tarik, this is Deacon the champion of Chimera. He has asked our glass works to deliver two cases of potion vials to the guild once a week. I did not think that was much of an ask, but you are the glass smith. What do you say?” Frankilo asked sitting back in his chair.

Tarik took a knee and cast his eyes down before Deacon. He placed a fist to his chest and spoke with reverence.

“I, Tarik Anmutf will pledge my best work to your project. You may never go without potion vials as long as I live, my champion. My freedom is owed to you and my passion will stoke the fires of my kiln,” Vowed Tarik.

“Wait, I insist you receive proper compensation. Please stand up, there is no need for oaths and formality. I was happy to save you and the others. Slavery is bad. Slavers should be punished. These are hard fast beliefs to me. Here, I’ve even got some mystically enriched sand. You use sand in your process, right?” Deacon asked trying to get the man to focus on his craft and not on him as some kind of savior.

“I do. I might be able to work wonders if the sand you provide is of good quality. The sand stores this far south are poor at best. I needed the priests to use holy arcanum to make treasures like the window you see before you,” Tarik said as he gestured to the window. He stared at it for a whole minute in reverence.

Deacon leaned around Tarik to look at Frankilo who was trying to hide his amusement by shuffling papers around his desk. That’s when he decided to give glass smith a sample of sand that Alfred could now replicate. Alfred was with Tantus right now, but he still had some sand left in his bag. The flap flipped up and a stream of sand flowed from inside and pooled into a ball in front of Tarik about the size of a softball.

“This has a remarkably high proportion of silica. Almost impossibly high. I could make glass vials that might never break with this. I also have a stamp that’s supposed to enchant glass with the ability to return to a designated place. I’ve had no use for it since it would require very rare ingredients and if I’m honest, most glass stays were it is anyway. With this sand I could make vials that return to the alchemist once emptied. Please forgive an old crafters musings. No one would ever need that. Maybe I’ll just sell the stamp,” babbled Tarik before turning back to Deacon who’s eyes were wide from shock.