For Whom the Bell Tolls

Oshar clutched his dagger tightly in his good hand. His other arm still bound beneath his tunic would be useless for some time. He had made his preparations while the friar was at prayer to his demon god. The kill should be simple and clean.

Hidden within a recess near the shrine entrance he listened to the approaching footsteps. The friar, followed by an adept of their foul cult. They were speaking in hushed tones.

"The purger is here? You are sure?" The friar sounded worried.

"He was seen, surveying the slave lines at the docks earlier today."

"We are not prepared for this. The settlement is in disarray and... the people must be prepared."

"What should we do Friar?"

"Go to the entrance and await the congregation, I will ring the bell to call them to hear the word."

"Of course."

Oshar remained still as the younger man hurried past to stand outside, and the friar returned to the small hall inside to attend to the bell. The assassin slipped further inside following the holy man to a rickety spiral stair that would lead up to the single bronze bell.

The friar was mumbling to himself and shaking his head as his climbed the narrow stairs. He was too preoccupied with his troubles to notice the shadow that followed him. Soon he reached the top. It was not a tall tower. He scooped up the hammer from its place upon the ground and as he straightened to make his first strike Oshar plunged the dagger into his back.

Quickly Oshar shifted his hand from the weapon to clutch the falling hammer, as the Friar gasped for breath before him. Oshar struck the bell, once, twice, three times, mimicking the call to prayer that he had studied since arriving in this foul place. The friar tried to turn and Oshar struck him over the back of the head with the hammer with a crushing blow.

As the people gathered below Oshar set about his work. The ritual of the stone was a simple one, placing against the forehead of the dying victim he mouthed the silent prayer that would draw forth the familiar blue glow from deep within the kopehtka as the last breath escaped.

He then drew rope from his pack and looped it in a noose around the friars neck. He tied the other end securely and dragged the dead body to the nearby rail. He could hear the adept below offering words of comfort to the gathered faithful. There appeared to be around thirty in all, and more drifting in from the nearby streets.

With a great tug and push he hefted the body upward and over. A second of silence and then a dull thud before the screaming began. The demon Kupen had one less acolyte to spread his lies this night.