Bane of the Blue Clerics by Jim McDaries

His tormentors were near... very near. The warehouse he choose belonged to a wealthy merchant of exotic goods. He entered the building from an abandon skylight that had be crudely covered with wooden planks and stood atop a gigantic stack of golden colored gopher wood bound for the tradesmen and carpenters of Frodo. He made his way down to the floor and found the perfect shadowed niche among the various stack, bails, and crates of merchandise to set his trap. The air of the warehouse was filled with the aroma of heavy spices from Shem and the delicate fragrance of perfumes from the dark jungles of Omeer. The warehouse had a fortune in goods and would probably have interested him if not for his current undertaking. He quickly cleared his mind for he had no time for dreaming. He must keep his mind on the task at hand and the duty he sworn to preform.

The warehouse was lit by moonlight entering through four of six working skylights, illuminating the floor below with long shadows. At first the shadows were still and undisturbed but gradually the they began to change shape as a new set of shadows moved among them. Through narrowed eyes he watched from his niche as a cat would watch mice scurrying in the gloom, waiting for the perfect time to pounce on the vermin. These vermin had only two legs but were vermin just the same and needed extermination. The shadows came alive and five figures emerged and stood among the various crates of wines and brandies; they were dressed in blue robes and carried an assortment of hand weapons.

"Keep your eyes open, my brothers" spoke an older man, a glimpse of chain armour reflecting the moonlight from beneath his blue robe, "the demon could be hiding anywhere."

The group belonged to a cult known as the Blue Clerics, a radical group devoted to ridding the world of what they called the "blue menace." They worship the skygods and claim Arcturans are a mockery of their faith. They claim that Arcturans come from the very pits of hell and not a long lost space travelling people. An Arcturan’s skin is the blue, the same as the skygods, thus giving the Blue Clerics, in their point of view, the right to kill them on sight. The cult commonly refers to Arcturans as demons. Hunting and killing Arcturans is not legal and frowned upon, but the Blue Clerics are subtle and efficient killers, leaving little or no clues behind.

The man leading the group in the shadows of the warehouse was named Argos Steelhelm. Once a high cleric of Tyr, he abandoned his faith and took up the call for cleansing after a misunderstanding and an unfortunate turn of events with an adventuring party’s Arcturan that resulted in the death of Argos’s younger brother Theros. Argos swore that day to hunt down and kill all Arcturans. He made good his oath, letting the hatred consume him and many died by his blade. He learned of the skygods from a chance encouter with others who seemed to hunt Arcturans. It was then that he renounced the god of justice and became a prophet of the Blue Clerics.

Argos had crossed the path of this particular demon once before and would have sent it back to hell if it wasn’t for the beast's sympathetic followers interfering and saving it from his righteous retribution. "Your friends can’t save you now," Argos thought to himself. He and his men had trapped the demon in this warehouse and here is where he would deal sweet justice.

"Steady lads, he is near I can feel him," Argos whispered to the four other blue clerics that had formed a circle around their leader; all drew their weapons. "COME OUT, DEMON, AND FACE ME!" shouted Argos with a burst that startled his compatriots. The madness had started to take control of his mind. The five men eagerly searched every shadow for movement or anything that would reveal the location of their prey.

"Argos, I grow weary of you hunting of me," a whispering voice said, "I have not done anything to deserve your attention but you have done much to deserve mine." The men turned in every direction trying to discern the location of the disembodied voice. The voice continued, "You and your cult have brought unending miserly to many of my people. Killing men and women, all in the name of righteousness. I think not. Your kind kill in the name of evil." A breeze stirred some invoices left on a crate of raspberry ale and they scattered on the dusty floor. The warehouse foreman had to sign them before the ale would be delivered to the Cozy Kitchen just down the road.

"Hah! Fool, it is true I have sent more of your kind to the grave than I can count; and tonight I will send one more back to hell!" bellowed Argos. Several moments past before a wicked laugh began, mocking the men in the middle of the room. The laugh seemed to be all around the them, among the them... the laugh was everywhere.

Then as the haunting laugh began to settle the demon spoke his words. They were as cold as the south wind and as flat as the steppes of Midgron.

"You are correct about one thing, Argos, there will be someone going to hell tonight, but I am afraid it will be you and your men. I didn’t lead you and your pathetic group here for your convenience, I lead you here to DIE!" As the demon screamed the last word he fired his two custom made flint lock pistols. Twin flashes of brilliant orange burst from the shadow beside the stack of gopher wood, instantly followed by two great clouds of billowing white smoke, and accompanied by a tremendous thunderclap that sent terror through the small group.

As the explosion erupted across the room, the men were sent into disarray. Brother Phillip and Brother Titus were the closest to the blast and were flung back over crates of wine and thrown sprawling to the ground. Both men were down. Brother Titus lay motionless in a slowly growing puddle of blood on the warehouse’s planked floor, soaking the scattered invoices. Brother Phillip leaned heavily against a crate clutching his stomach and swaying from side to side in agony from his wound. The scene was utter chaos. The smoke cloud filled the room and chocked the men. The sudden attack was too much for Argos’s newest inductees to the faith and they fled the warehouse with eyes stinging and ears ringing; they dragged Philip with them. "Cowards!" screamed Argos after his retreating men, then he spun around and furiously swung his blade in the white smoke.

After his third wild swing his blade rang steel on steel and stopped. There he stood faced to face with his demon their blades locked and teeth bared. "Now you will meet your end fiend", Argos rasped.

"No, you are the fiend, murderer of innocents, it is your own death you have come to witness." The demon spoke flatly. Then added in a booming voice that struck fear into heart of Argos Steelhelm. "I will avenge the fallen of your evil cult. I will see it done. You will pay, so swears Ghul D'Khat!"

As the last word was sounded they burst apart and the dance of death began. Argos was a dead man though he didn’t know it. He soon would discover the fact and so would the others…