“Suffering from a bout of ennui?” called a familiar voice out of the night.

Baldrick Touris looked up from the dice he pointlessly tossed against a wall. His friend Temir, the bulky Hagardian Reef guardsman, loomed out of the darkness. “Aye, I spent the day pouring over books and translating. I thought I might keep you company on your patrol.”

Temir was broad and muscular, his scars masked by his tapering beard, wearing an officer’s uniform with a broadsword strapped to his side. “I may cut the patrol a bit short and quench my thirst at the Thinking Man’s Tavern. One of the befits of seniority – the soldiers fear my approach but I fear no one else’s.”

The two men stood on The Wayfarer’s Road, near the forum and the philosopher’s academies. Baldrick was over six foot and lithe, with the shape of a fencer and the good cheekbones and jaw of the Kaldosan minor nobility. He sported a head of red hair, a carefully tailored outfit, and a red silk cloak; at his side hung the long sword his father bequeathed him.

"The Thinker’s Inn,” Baldrick responded standing up.

“Aye it’s the closest.”

“We can listen to the philosopher’s debate, although those prating fools grow tiresome," Baldrick commented.

"Aye, at times."

"I think I will start my own philosophy -- it's only goal will be to say something outrageous at all times."

"Be careful you are not too outrageous to the rich, for their coin supports you when you do nothing useful. Working as a philosopher must be easier than drilling recalcitrant troops."

"Or translating for ignorant rural lords."

As they passed the hall of records the massive squat marbled edifice faced with rows of pillars, Creon the Cynic, reeking as usual, emerged from behind one pillar and announced: "A philosophy that seeks to be outrageous except to the rich is not new, nearly every philosophy is like that already."

Baldrick glared at the Cynic in disgust: his hair was matted, his robes were filthy, and his teeth were black.

"Eavesdropping again, Creon? I may have to clip your ears."

"Eavesdropping opens the path to learning. People wear masks, donning them according to their social role. Although eavesdropping does not show a person's true self, it does reveal the mask they adopt with others."

Baldrick glanced into Creon's alcove where he had built a nest with bedding, blankets, and a hunk of cheese and bread. He had probably hidden there all day observing, his dirty, bare feet gripping the pillar’s edges like a vulture.

"What have you learned from your observations?" Temir asked.

"I’m not certain yet. We are a miserable lot: greedy, scrabbling, false, maneuvering for position. If we rip enough masks away, do we find the true self manipulating social roles or nothing?"

"Look within yourself for that answer."

"We may know ourselves worse of all. Like everyone I am a miserable creature, a canker to the gods. Speaking of misery, can you spare a few coppers?"

Temir rolled his eyes and walked away.

Creon limped after them. "Nay, my lords. I have no rich patrons."

"Perhaps bathing will draw more patrons and fewer flies."

"But the flies are more honest."

He limped after them while they waited for him to say something interesting. Temir, for one, was not going to give up a coin without more entertainment.

"I know how I could intrigue two gallants like yourselves. Could I draw your attention to the mysteries of Palencor the Just? His cult will perform the rites tonight on the isle of the lesser gods."

The inaptly named Palencor the Just was a capricious and cruel Sultan who died three years ago -- according to rumor poisoned by his own son. Palencor's favorite pastime involved watching torture machines wrench apart his political opponents. Instead of attending to matters of state, he spent hours designing the machines, which he used on anyone who crossed him. After his death, his son, to show filial respect, ordered the priests of Organus to announce that his father had metamorphosed into a god.

"What do Palencor's rites have to do with us?"

"We could adopt the proper masks and join the mystery ceremonies. The women at the ceremonies are the cusp of Kaldosan society and thus promiscuous."

Baldrick and Temir glanced at one another. Temir chimed in: "Would this not be sacrilege? Is it not our duty to honor the gods?"

"To honor the gods, yes. Do any of us believe Palencor is a god? He was proclaimed a god when his son ascended the throne. A son who killed his own father," his voice sunk lower as he made the last statement.

Temir frowned and glanced along the streets which were empty with the exception of a prostitute a dozen feet away.

"He made his father a god to stifle rumors, and I doubt Organus’s priests can instill divinity. In ancient days, when the priests were incorruptible, the state gave them the task of choosing between competing claims of godhead. Now they serve coin, not truth. We should ask: what is a god?"

"A powerful, supernatural being that can do as it wishes," Temir answered.

"No! A god is a wise, self-contained being that understands justice and does not depend on external things. Palencor was dependant on externals when he was alive, deriving pleasure from power and torture, not contemplation."

Baldrick pointed out: "Your description of the gods is appealing, but in the myth cycles they are capricious. We’ve encountered gods in our adventures, and they are not as philosophical as you suggest."

"I cannot prove the nature of the gods, but I can demonstrate the debased nature of Kaldosan social conventions. We can watch the rites of Palencor: everyone will be masked, and the nobility will be present. We will witness the degradation of our citizens -- consider it a philosophical test --a lived experiment."

"Will you bathe before we go to this mystery?"

"Aye, meet me at the public fountain after the moon rises."

By the light of the full moon, Baldrick and Temir witnessed Creon bathing in the public fountain near the docks. "The waters run rancid now," Baldrick pointed out, laughing.

"People must drink from that fountain," Temir objected.

"Nothing but honest sweat and dirt in that water, lords. Nothing that the horses don't shake in it when they pass." Creon dried himself with rotting bedding. "Here my lords, are our costumes." Three animal masks lay on the flags of the street: a cat, an ostrich and a hawk. Baldrick wore the cat and Temir the hawk, leaving the ostrich head to Creon. They had left their swords at their apartments; they could not take weapons to the sacrifice.

Near the wharf they joined the loud, uproarious crowd and its carnival of masks, which covered the panoply of animals, real and mythical. Everyone drank and laughed while climbing into dozens of decorated boats, which guards allowed only the masked to enter.

Sailing to the isle of the secondary gods was a mere crossing of the bay's restrained waters. The three raised the bottom of their masks and guzzled the fruit wine the revelers passed about. Baldrick grabbed one woman, who laughed, and kissed her full on the mouth before she faded into the crowd, promising joy for later. The ships were covered in wreaths and banners, berries and long grape vines, with the multitude of torches and oil lamps making the day appear night.

Baldrick kissed another beauty and managed to work his hands up her robes before she eluded him. Grinning, he turned to Creon. "Not a bad idea for a philosopher."

"Did I not tell you my lords?"

The ceremony took place not far from the beach, where the revelers caroused until they wavered in a circle around a stage bestowed with an alter covered in laurel and cloth of gold. Paintings of the god graced the stage’s rear wall: idyllic, colorful depictions portraying a lithe, firmly muscled man with a pleasant, intelligent face. Baldrick had once witnessed the emperor dedicating a new temple; in reality he was scrawny and syphilis scarred.

Torches lit the stage, and a group of priests readied the sacrifice: a prize heifer with wreaths around its horns.

Creon drew them together and whispered: "Gaze upon the chief priest, Aldosan de Dutrus. Does he not appear a fine man? Look upon his face: you see the aristocratic straight nose, the clear white skin, the red lips of the elite. No common blood in his body. But see his shame: he holds the priesthood of a god he believes in only because the belief is politic."

"But he has wealth and wears a gold laurel," Baldrick pointed out.

"In exchange for a wasted life. Is that a good bargain?"

Aldosan raised his hand for silence and the crowd quieted, especially when the guards slapped the ground with their whips.

Dutrus held the sacrificial knife imploringly above his head. "Lord Palencor the Just, look upon our sacrifice with favor, and appear before our unworthy assembly." Baldrick observed heavy drinking around him. Not a single person watched with reverence; smiles and sarcasm crossed many faces. Soldiers patrolled the crowd, so there were no catcalls or open signs of disrespect, but no one apart from the priests kneeled.

"Lord Palencor, think of us with benevolence, for we remember your accomplishments as Emperor." He began listing the temples and public works Palencor built, and his foreign policy accomplishments (most of which Baldrick considered dubious).

Temir watched the priest closely, wondering if he was bothered by the lies. That damned, malingering philosopher had caused him to think. The lines on Aldosan’s fine face were taunt, unperturbed, his expression artfully shaped into reverence. Aldosan was a man of the highest social rank and honor, yet everything he did was a lie.

Next to Aldosan the air roiled, rippling like water disturbed by a falling stone. Baldrick glanced away then turned back, thinking he was seeing things.

Baldrick whispered to Temir, "Magia intrudes on these rites, prepare yourself."

The crowd murmured as the air boiled madly about the priest, who ceased preying and gawked.

He’s finally lost control over his expression, Temir thought.

The air boiled red; beyond the red eddies of force Temir could make out a cyclopean city of towers, cubes and magnificent palaces.

Palencor strolled through the red mist, crossing from the heavens into Kaldos, standing eight feet tall, his body perfect, not diseased and twisted as in life, and reeking of Magia.

The crowd reacted violently, jostling and backing away. At first, Baldrick suspected stage machinations by the priests, but the Magia was undeniable.

The god's voice roared above the crowd. "We greet our beautiful fishes, who swam here to worship us." His face creased into a smile as the crowd gawked. "What are you waiting for? Kneel! We are your god!"

The chief priest kneeled and waved to the other priests to do the same. The crowd followed suit until Palencor looked at the long ranks of people in satisfaction.

"Sages will record today as our first miracle. For three years, we have lived in the heavens troubled over those who doubt our divinity; in fact, even now we detect doubters in the crowd. Patrol the throngs for unbelievers," he ordered the soldiers.

The soldiers moved through the throngs, unsure what to look for, everyone kneeled now -- who were the unbelievers?

"The three of them," the god announced, "the cat, the ostrich and the hawk." Soldiers closed in on Baldrick, Temir and Creon from all directions. "They practice sacrilege, entering our mystery rites despite never joining the cult."

A dozen soldiers hemmed the three of them in with whips and pikes and could tear them to pieces before they could move a foot.

The guards herded them onto the stage to face the god.

Palencor announced: "punishment must be meted out to the blasphemers." Removing their masks, he grasped their chins one by one, his hand almost as big as their faces. "Two blasphemous, irreverent heroes, and one foolish philosopher. We ask you Creon: how can one be a fool and a philosopher?"

"I often manage it, my lord," he answered.

He traced his finger across their faces. They screamed in turn as his finger burned them, leaving a scar across their cheeks. "This mark is our curse." He ordered a gang of guards to drag them to the edge of the stage, and held a torch before their faces showing the mark. "Our worshipers have a holy duty to kill anyone cursed with this mark." He turned to the chief priest. "Have we acted justly?"

"My lord knows best," he responded, swallowing.

"Then again we are known as the Just; perhaps mercy would be admirable. Legends exist of heroes committing blasphemy and then expiating their sins. There was Lalowan, who raped one of the priestesses of Androna and wandered the deserts until he redeemed himself by rescuing travelers. We will give you one opportunity to redeem yourselves. If you bring us the mummified Hand of the Rat God from his temple, we will forgive your transgressions. If you fail, my followers will hunt you down like dogs."

When Palencor ordered them released, they staggered to the boats, hearing the ceremonies continue as Palencor forced obeisance from his worshipers. Initially, their shock mired them in silence as they shoved a small boat into the water and paddled it to the mainland shore, but then the words burst forth.

"Our pride brought this upon us," Creon moaned.

"What does he hope to gain?" Temir inquired.

"He hopes to raise his status in the sagas of the gods. All the gods send heroes and priests on quests; it's one mark of divinity. He is a new god trying to get people to take him seriously." Baldrick responded.

"What a bizarre way to do it! He wants us to commit sacrilege, to steal from another god's temple. Have you heard of a god demanding sacrilege?"

"There was the time frothing Lothar, the god of war, ordered Talosaur the mighty to destroy Androna’s temple. For that affront the gods tied Talosaur to a flaming wheel for eternity," Creon pointed out.

"You are helpful. I think I’ll tie you to a flaming wheel, not for an eternity, but long enough to bake off your skin!" Baldrick snarled.

"My lords, I hope you are not angry at me. I had no idea we would suffer such a dire fate."

"How can we steal a closely guarded religious artifact?" Temir asked.

"I think I know. We must recover our swords and meet near the street of Divine Radiance," Baldrick announced.

Creon said: "Of course, you don't need me; I am a commoner and cannot carry a sword."

Baldrick snarled, "This is your fault! You will be there! In fact, I have an important role for you."

They recovered their swords and met near the Rat God's temple, which stood in the street of Divine Radiance. Every thief, burglar, body snatcher, juggler, acrobat and vagabond made his or her way to this temple at one point, praying for the god's indulgence in their latest venture. A line of people entered the front doors and approached the offering bowl, where they tossed in their coin and made a brief prayer for favor. Many thieves made it a point to give 10% of every haul to the god. A gigantic ebony statue of the god reared on its hind legs before the offering bowl, its sleek fur glistening and much of its body inlaid with multicolored jewels.

Baldrick rented one of the tables inside the inner sanctum and set up a game of pearl and shells. Although the thieves knew the trick, the outlanders and traders who entered the god's temple were ripe for the picking. Baldrick took the money of several fools as Creon worked his way to the line’s beginning.

Temir stepped before Baldrick and announced in his best outlander accent. "The gods smile upon me today! I will wager a gold piece on this game!"

Baldrick showed him the pearl and shifted it about under the shells. Temir pointed to a shell; there was no pearl under it.

"You were too swift for me, but I will not lose again. The gods smile upon me." He placed another gold piece on Baldrick's table.

Again Baldrick moved the shells about rapidly enough to make his hands blur, and Temir pointed to one shell, which Baldrick raised: empty. "Sorry stranger," he commented. "Would you like to try your luck again?"

Temir's hands shot forth and grasped Baldrick's wrists. "You cheat!" he snarled and turned over the other two shells, showing everyone there was no pearl, prompting the thieves and con men to start laughing. "You palmed the pearl and hid it in your sleeve. Give me my coin back."

"You accuse me of cheating and expect your coin back! Never!" Baldrick hurled the table at Temir who batted it away and drew his sword. Temir drove Baldrick back with his blade toward the temple door.

The chief priest ran toward them screaming. "Do not fight in the god's sanctum!"

Out of the corner of their eyes, they watched the guards shove through the crowd. When Creon scuttled past with the bundle under his robes, they stumbled and swung their swords wildly, scattering the crowd. Running from the temple, they outdistanced the guards, who were hampered by armor and halberds.

They met three blocks away, where Creon sat in a doorway cradling the paw of the Rat God. "I stole it my lords."

Baldrick glanced back along the street, which was free of pursuit. "Aye, you did at that. We will teach you a trade yet, even if it’s thievery."

Temir announced: "Let's see this magnificent artifact."

Creon handed over the withered hand, and Temir examined the misshapen mummified hand which looked like a cross between a human hand with an opposable thumb and a giant, hairy rat paw. "Palencor wants this withered old hand?"

"Aye, it has great religious significance for the Rat God’s cult," Baldrick said. "Perhaps their cults are in conflict."

"Does it have magical properties?"

"Supposedly, when the Rat God returns to the Realms in the flesh, he touches his worshipers with this hand, and it allows him to enter their body."

They wrapped the hand in oil cloth and rapidly strode toward Palencor's temple.

Baldrick halted and grasped Temir's arm. "What is that smell?" An odor of death and decay filled his nostrils.

"'Tis probably an open sewer."

"No, more than that." The air was different; a stillness settled on a city that never slept. "Dark Magia. The Rat God’s priests move against us."

A vision possessed Baldrick's mind: of the Rat God, massive and leering, soiling its nest as its claws dug into his mind. The Rat tortured blasphemers through dark Magia, sending them visions of terror. Baldrick witnessed a fat, rich man pulled into an alley, his throat cut by a street tough. He felt the man's despair as he bled to death in the street, never to see family or friends again. A succession of debauched men paraded before him, badly using horrified slaves, whose pain and misery coursed through Baldrick's mind.

The visions forced themselves into his head, making him feel the pain of the dispossessed and miserable: sweaty, dirt streaked laborers working till midnight; a bawd selling her body until too abused to draw coin; panderers drawing an innocent to her doom; their pain and despair becoming Baldrick's pain; their lives overpowering him.

Baldrick glanced at Creon and Temir, who held their heads in their hands and groveled in the dirt. The Rat God lived in the city's darkness, and He created a glamour of poverty, misery, and hatred.

Baldrick suffered as demons hovered around them: creatures who feed off the city's misery, who cluster on the universe’s edge, touching the membranes between dimensions like insects stirring water, greedily feeding off a starving child, or a masterless man without bread.

Creon crawled to Baldrick and Temir and grasped their shoulders. "Look at me!" he snarled. Temir glanced up and saw Creon's body embraced by a demon, its head above him like a parasite. "They are in all of us -- fight them!"

Temir concentrated on forcing the images and the demon’s claws out of his mind.

He and Baldrick fought against the intrusive presences until the demons fled cackling. Seeking easier prey? Temir wondered. Or were they satisfied that they softened them up for some encroaching horror?

Three temple guardsmen stumbled into the square, holding their heads between their hands. Baldrick and Temir unsheathed their swords, but the guardsmen were preoccupied.

"They're in my head!" one of them cried out.

Another screamed: "It burns! My skin burns off!" There was nothing wrong with his skin that Temir could see. "My bowels boil!" He drove his thumbs into his eyes and gouged his eyes out, rolling on the street, sobbing, "I can still see them!"

The other two men glared at Baldrick and Temir. One of them a broad, well armored guardsman, announced: "You caused this!"

"Aye," the other growled, "you are wizards! You drove these demons into my brain!"

The demons encompassed each of them like a nimbus, their bodies shaped like worms, and their faces dominated by a wide mouth and circular row of fangs.

The men attacked in a berserker rage, their mouths foaming and grimacing, their attack so vicious that they forced Baldrick and Temir to give ground. Temir used his opponent's aggressiveness against him, retreating but penetrating his guard, wounding him in four places.

"Cease man!" Temir told him. "You have lost. Preserve your life!" Foaming at the mouth, the guard charged, and Temir ran him through, holding off his sword arm until he died.

Baldrick stood beside him, breathing heavy and leaning against his sword.

The haze parted and the temple's chief priest approached them. "Why did you commit this sacrilege? I will have you stripped flesh from bone, and once you die the gods will devise worse punishments for you." He leaned his head toward the ground listening to a thumping, scrambling noise. "The Rat God's children come, to chastise his enemies."

From sewage canals, buildings and alleys, rats burst into view, their red eyes glowering. Thousands poured into the street, leaving nowhere to run and making their swords useless -- they could not cut down all of them.

"Kill the sacrilegious possessor of the hand!" the priest screamed.

Creon tried to pass the hand to Baldrick, who hurled it as far away as he could manage.

"As if that would help!" Temir snarled, waiting to be engulfed. Thousands of the maddened rats charged them; there was no escape.

The priest's eyes widened in glee when the hand landed before him. He leaned over and picked it up before realizing his mistake -- he was now the hand’s possessor. The rats were upon him, devouring him alive, burying his screams and struggles under a mass of wet, dirty fur and picking him to the bone.

The rats, no longer motivated by a divine purpose, behaved like dumb, solitary animals, wandering aimlessly and scavenging in the trash strewn in nearby alleys. Whenever one came close, Baldrick or Temir kicked it away.

They retrieved the claw and moved up the street toward the temple of Palencor. "I fear the Rat God will not give up so easily."

Palencor’s temple was not as magnificent or popular as the Rat God's. The Sultan ordered it reared of marble, but it possessed one room for sacrifices and a basin to trap the blood. They brought the hand inside the temple, where Aldosan paced and Palencor dominated the throne.

As soon as he saw them, the god proclaimed: "They have succeeded! We can tell from their faces. Bring us the hand!" he ordered his hireling.

Aldosan took the hand from Baldrick and carried it reverently to the god.

The mark faded from their faces, the curse lifted.

Palencor held the claw for a moment, stroking it before ordering his chief priest, "Come here. We have a gift for you, to pay you for your loyalty."

The end of his hand crackled with magia as he embraced Aldosan. Both their bodies convulsed and blue energy engulfed them, brightening until it obscured their bodies under a shower of sparks and flame. After a few moments the blue energy faded away, leaving only Aldosan standing there. The mummified Rat hand lay on the ground.

Aldosan staggered forward and picked up the hand.

Baldrick's hopes raised. Had the god's magic not worked? Had Palencor inadvertently banished himself back to the heavens?

Aldosan covered his eyes with both hands, as if his eyes or brow were injured. When Baldrick approached him, he removed his hands from his eyes and with a dramatic flourish swept his head in their direction, laughing.

He possessed the god's eyes, yellow, unnatural and stinking of magia.

"We are of the flesh now." He stroked his body and face, inhaling in satisfaction. "And a fine flesh it is." He appraised himself in the sacrificial pool. "My, what a handsome man we have become." He turned sideways and posed, thrusting his chin in the air. "A noble aristocratic face, no scars, we've never looked better."

Uncertain, Baldrick and Temir's hands strayed near their sword hilts.

He turned to the three companions and announced in a gracious voice: "All our disagreements are forgiven. In fact, you three witnessed our resurrection and receive our blessing." He placed his hands on Baldrick and Temir's shoulders. "We shall make you prophets. Go to the streets and proclaim our return." He stared into the air, envisioning the future. "The people will flock to their beloved, resurrected emperor. We will return to the throne, to everyone's delight, for we were the most loved emperor."

Baldrick tried to imagine the public reaction if Palencor forced them to go through the streets proclaiming his return: derision, contempt, a pelting with fruit and vegetables. Palencor probably possessed enough divine Magia to prove to the people he was an embodied god, but prophets would not do the trick.

"We loathe the gods’ realm," he proclaimed spitefully. "They’re so bloody pompous and ancient that they don't take us seriously. We would rather sit on the throne again, where the masses will treat us like a god and where our divine wisdom can create a perfect society."

"What will you do to create a perfect society, my lord?" Creon asked.

With Creon's persistent questioning and skepticism, Baldrick wondered how long it would take Palencor to kill him.

The god stroked his chin, before announcing: "First, we will kill our son, who poisoned us, the ungrateful sop. Then we will have the guard disembowel his ministers and governors in the street, and order the beheading of prominent lords and judges. We will make a list."

Baldrick envisioned the city streets smoking with blood, and the prisons laden with enemies of state.

"We will establish a firm hand from the onset of our utopian rule. The people must respect us even as they love us." He gloated at the mummified hand. "We bet his Ratness has soiled himself in his nasty nest." He laughed in a loud, girlish voice. "Only thanks to His magic is all this possible. We think we will have his temple pulled down."

While he was absorbed in his internal debate, Baldrick drew his sword.

Palencor turned immediately, his eyes inflamed. "You dare!" he snarled.

Before he could react, Baldrick's sword severed the hand holding the Rat God's paw.

The god stared incredulously at his stump before yelling, "We are in pain! A god should not feel pain!"

Baldrick drove his sword into Palencor's midsection, the thrust not ending until the bloody point stood a foot past his back. "A god in the flesh feels pain!" Baldrick snarled and ripped his sword free. "If you resurrect yourself in the flesh, you can die in the flesh."

Palencor sucked in his breath and slumped against the floor, grasping his stomach, trying to hold in the blood and intestines. "Assassin, regicide," he mumbled, his voice weak. "We curse you for this, and the afterworld for you will be brutal." He laughed and coughed blood. "We fear that we feel ourselves becoming a god again, and Father Organus will be angry with us."

After Palencor expired, they heard a loud pleating from the street. Two of the Rat God's servitors, six foot tall rats, their front appendages paws equipped with opposable thumbs stood ready to charge the temple, their eyes glimmering with intelligence and malice; their noses quivering as they smelled what lingered in the temple. They hesitated to attack because they smelled Palencor's divine Magia.

"Give me the hand!" Baldrick snarled. He wrapped it in temple cloth and hurled it to them.

One of them picked it up and hugged it to its body. They hesitated, uncertain, before loping away from the temple to return their master’s relic. Although they wanted revenge, they had recovered the artifact and did not want to lose it in battle. The god's memory was long and his power was great; he could wait to take his vengeance.

"We have angered two gods; there will be a price to pay," Baldrick observed.

"You must admit I have proven my argument about the insanity of human and divine conventions," Creon insisted. They grabbed him by both arms -- "No my lords!" he protested -- and dumped him upside down in a temple wine barrel.

"I think being drunk on wine is healthier than being drunk on philosophy," Temir laughed.

"Aye, now let us sacrifice to a different god. Someone to protect us from the other two."