CHAPTER 7

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[Friar]

At last, the church was finally complete, and the friar was ecstatic, not only could he now live in the luxurious rooms that he had helped build, away from the stinking rabble that infested the campgrounds. But he wouldn’t have to spend every waking hour pretending that their sheer presence didn’t make him feel sick.

He could get back to his important work, the master could only wait so long after all. With his church built it was time to help the master begin working on the apotheosis.

Oh, it would be glorious, so glorious, a world redeemed, and he would be there, standing beside the master to see it all happen.

The church was grand, so very grand. If the Friar had any genuine feelings for the church and for god, he would have felt in awe at the holy space. Friar, however, did not. He believed in the master and the power of might. So, when he gazed at the architecturally genius design with all the arches and spires, he felt a sense of self-satisfaction at the power his position would yield. Power over others was the Friars only genuine desire, power that all had to obey, power that dominated.

He laughed at the thoughts swirling around his head. This was the first step to accomplishing that.

First however, there was a few tasks that required his attention.

Namely, those two builders that had crossed him, arranging a little accident for the two of them would be priority number one. But how to do it, how to do it and make sure no one even considered it could have been him.

Hiring an adventurer to slash them down was obviously out of the picture. Much like a whore, the stupid fuckers couldn’t keep their mouths closed.

Friar climbed the stairs to his room above the church, pondering the issue, working on the church had slimmed his gargantuan belly down a bit, and he climbed the stairs easier than he had ever done so. Sitting down at his writing desk he began to plot and plan, to scheme the builder’s deaths.

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Oh, it would be sweet, a torturous death for the scum who had mocked him, who had the gall to laugh at him.

Anger surged in his veins as he thought back, lying on the floor semi-conscious hearing them laugh at him. He clenched his fists in anger, breathing slowly as he set the quill down.

Anger without direction didn’t solve anything, but Friar was good at directing it. Harnessing it, channelling it to make his enemies pay.

Friar thought on the matter for quite some time, carrying out the seemingly endless number of little tasks that were required of him by the church. Cleaning and tidying, sweeping up the mess, reorganising all of the little items and dealing with the ever-increasing pile of letters from the townsfolk and adventurers alike.

The church had lots of power with the populace, their word was easily able to sway the landowners and nobles and they could make life very very miserable for them. Friar knew this and took advantage of it every chance he could, stealing free meals and items from the people who could hardly afford to spare any, all in the name of the church.

He laughed out loud remembering many such times. Life was good.

Adventurers also relied on the church for a lot, the collective power of gods worship soaked into the very brickwork and presence of the church, making it a very holy place indeed. Adventurers came by to remove curses, poisons health drains, tags and many more different inflictions that dungeons gave out regularly.

Friar was still waiting for them to find out which he would have to treat, but as yet the dungeon had seemingly avoided using such traps and monsters. A blessing for the adventurers, but a pain in the ass for him. The more hazardous the dungeon the more business the church would gain in healing the adventurers and the more powerful it became in the region.

The master required the church to be the ultimate authority here; Friar didn’t know why, but master always had his reasons. Friar hoped to know soon, but he would be patient, pushing the master was an incredibly bad idea, and he was smart enough to realise that.

For now, he would tend to the dungeon, slowly integrating into the community, doing as master had bade. Oh, and taking his revenge on those builders of course.

He had his plan now, the ultimate way of disposing of a body was a dungeon, it stripped the mana away erasing all signature from a corpse and then they often used the bodies, zombies and skeletons were common enough sight and no one would realise who they were. Though this dungeon had also seemed to steer away from undeath and the infernal. But Friar was sure their stinking corpses would be of use, a gift from Friar and Master to the dungeon.

He laughed again, breaking into a cackle that any who heard would be hard pressed not to be unnerved by. Evil thoughts circled Friar and he revelled in it.

They would pay, they would all pay.

And it would be beautiful.