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!Note that I have revised chapter 3 slightly to add a description of the city that somehow never made it into the final version. No big deal, but it adds flavour and gives a little more background.

Icon art from the Mermul reference by Billie/FeatheryFlukes

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Chapter 5 - Prayers

The temple was large. It had to be, to accommodate a crowd of dragons wishing to give thanks to their creator. Even so, the seating arrangements only provided for double digits. Perhaps because of this, those attending the temple typically did so on their own schedule, rather than descending on the temple en mass every tenday.

Humans and Furres had their own respective deities - Anah and Arbar - but since all three were part of the same pantheon there was nothing unusual about the small races serving the temple. Someone had to do the fine work which a dragon could not, after all. Praying was another matter, however, and each race would generally make offerings in their own temple unless they had specific reason to pray to one of the other divines. To do otherwise would be the spiritual equivalent of phoning the wrong department in a large organisation - even if your message was passed on to the correct authority, the inconvenience alone would make them rather less likely to listen.

Fardon stepped into the atrium with Mermul in tow, and made his way towards the priest, a grey frost dragon with a robe draped across his back. Fisk kept a respectful distance and watched from the doorway.

"Ah," the priest said. "Sir Fardon. I have heard the news. The chapel is free, my son, and I shall pray for your spiritual atonement. Who are your companions, if I may ask? Do they also seek guidance from our Father?"

"This is Mermul, a refugee new to our realm. I am escorting him for the present. And..." he hesitated. "There is also a stranger from the disputed lands. He has unusual beliefs, Father. Perhaps he should not be here," he added, glancing at at Fiskul with a warning expression.

"All of us are children of Alkrash," the priest said. "If they seek His mercy, and salvation from the Devourer, they are welcome here."

"Uh, about that," Fiskul said, poking a spiny black head around the door. The priest looked startled and ruffled his wings.

"My child, that is an... unfortunate appearance you have," he said. "If that is cosmetic, then it is in poor taste."

"I've always looked like this," Fiskul protested. "May I enter? I wish to pray to the Great One."

Fardon looked awkward, dropped a coin in the offering dish from the pouch on his collar, and scurried towards the chapel with unseemly haste.

Mermul glanced at the black dragon with an increasingly unhappy expression. "Uh.. This is the house of the Great One. Can you actually enter here? Wouldn't it turn you to dust or something?"

"Of course I can," Fiskul said, and did so. "I don't know how most of this got started. Some of the Scriptures have taken off on completely the wrong feet. They think I'm a guy, for instance..."

Mermul threw back his head like a wolf baying at the moon, and emitted a keening noise. The blue-grey fur around his face was tinged with purple and he quickly hid it behind his wings, shrivelling with embarrassment.

"Oh!" Fiskul said. "Of course you don't know! I'm agender. Physically sexless. Can't have the Destroyer producing kids, right? One of them might throw a tantrum and end the world ahead of schedule."

"You!" the priest gasped, tail going rigid as he made a sign of protection.

"I feel such an idiot," Mermul wailed.

"Shush, shush... It's okay," Fiskul said, patting him reassuringly with a foreleg. "As the good Father here can tell us, the Scriptures always call me a guy. Honestly, 'he' is perfectly fine. I did present as a dragoness at one point but honestly, I think I prefer being a bit more masculine. Works better with the black," they added, studying an elegantly manicured claw. "But, if you were hoping for a night of passion, some options are off the table..."

"We're in a temple!" Mermul shrieked. "Stop talking about that stuff!"

"Oh!" Fiskul put a hand to their muzzle and looked around sheepishly. "So sorry! I don't get out much..."

"My child, if you have made a pact with the Dark One..." the priest warned. "Your very soul is at risk! I will pray for your salvation, but it may already be too late!"

"I... didn't mean to?" Mermul said, looking flustered and upset. "Hunters tried to kill me... I guess... I did wish that... the Devourer would take them... But it was just a throwaway curse, right...?"

"Your words have summoned the Evil One!" the priest hissed, appalled. "And how he seeks your soul..."

"Technically that's slander," Fiskul said, staring at the priest with an offended expression.

The priest drew up his head imposingly and looked down at Fiskul. "Begone, foul one!" he declared said in a commanding voice, pointing at the door. "Leave this place... And trouble us no more!"

Fiskul glowered back at him irritably. "No," they said stubbornly.

"What is going on here?" Fardon demanded irritably. "I leave you for five minutes..."

"It is an outbreak of evil!" the priest protested, looking alarmed. "The Devourer Himself walks among us! Alkrash protect us all!"

"Fisk, stop annoying the clergy," Fardon snapped. "I am not in the mood for this. I came here to seek forgiveness, not cause mass hysteria."

"He started it!"

"You know, for someone who claims to be thousands of years old, you're being a little childish," Fardon remarked. "He asked you to leave."

"Growing old is mandatory, growing up is optional," Fiskul retorted. "And I'm not leaving. Not yet, anyway."

"Well, I can't force you to do anything," Fardon said, throwing up his forelegs. "I don't believe you're the Evil One, but whatever you are, you're a power beyond me. But please, you're upsetting people! For my and Mermul's sake, it might be better if you left, before we're all arrested or excommunicated or something."

"I agree completely," Fiskul said. "Unfortunately you're all missing an important point. He's a priest of D... Uh, the Great One. If I leave when he tells me to, that means I'm obeying him. Have you considered the spiritual ramifications of that?"

"Oh," Mermul said. "Because I wished for your help and you saved me, he thinks I owe you a favour... And that you're following me around to collect it?"

"Exactly," Fiskul grinned toothily at the priest. "They have some silly rumour that when I befriend someone, it's because I want their soul. That by asking me to slay your enemies and save you, you've entered into a pact with the forces of darkness, in exchange for your own immortal soul.
"But if that's true, commanding me to leave is also a pact with the forces of darkness, right? That'll be one soul, please," he added, thrusting out a clawed hand towards the priest and opening it and closing it expectantly. "Gimme!"

"Stop that, Fisk," Mermul pleaded, as the priest shrank away making an ancient sign of protection. "You keep whining about your bad reputation... this isn't helping."

"I'm just kidding," the black dragon said. "Look, if it makes everyone more comfortable, I'll wait outside, but there is something I have to do first."

As the priest and his assistants watched in horror, the sinister black dragon trotted to the high altar and knelt before it reverently. Shortly afterwards, they lifted their head, eyeing the golden figure of Alkrash the Dragon God with an affectionate expression.

"Hi, Dad," Fiskul began, "Sorry I haven't called you lately. Hope you're doing okay!"

There was a gasp of horror from the clerics, and many made protective gestures.

"Thanks so much for sending me a new friend, and showing him Your light. I'll do my best to keep him safe. Oh yeah, and say 'hi' to Verthyr from me. Hope she's keeping well. Gotta go, the priests are getting irritable again. Can't you have them update the Scriptures or something? Anyway, talk later. Love you. Bye!"

A shocked silence fell, until one of the temple guards arrived with a clink of armour.

"Blasphemer," he said, lips curling into a snarl. "Leave immediately, or face the wrath of the Great One!"

"No," Fiskul snarled back. "I don't like bullies - especially not in the house of my Father. Show Him some respect!"

"I am a servant of the Great One," the guard growled. "A protector of this temple!"

"By splashing my blood over it? Defiling it with violence?" Fiskul shook their head. "I think you need to read the Scriptures again. Specifically, the Book of Arwen..."

The guard drew back, horrified. Raising their head proudly, the Devourer strode directly towards the offering plate, punctuating the shocked silence with the clink of many gold coins.

"I'll be outside," they said, and left.

Mermul was curled up on the floor, cringing with embarrassment. "I am so, so sorry..." he babbled.

"May the Great One protect your soul," the priest told him, horrified.

"He probably has," Fardon interjected. The priest craned his neck and looked at him sharply. "What do you mean by that?"

"I'm serious, Father. I can't believe that this 'Fisk' is truly the Devourer of legend," Fardon said slowly. "Not as the Scriptures describe them, at least. But whatever they are, I do believe they were sent by the Great One. And, rightly or wrongly, they seem to believe they are carrying out His will."

"But-" the priest looked scandalised.

"You are perceptive as always, Fardon," a new voice said.

"Your grace," the priest grovelled, as a pale, ancient dragon approached them. "There was an intruder..."

"I saw," the high priest said. "And I have seen this Fiskul creature before, long, long ago. They are a strange one, fey and unpredictable. The Scriptures are ancient texts, handed down over many generations. As a guide, they are not perfect, and both word and meaning have shifted down the aeons.
"Much of what is said and written about the Devourer comes from man, furre and dragon, not the gods themselves. What I am saying is, you can't always go by the book," he summarised.

The high priest sighed. "Yes, this being may herald the end of the world. But they did not end it before, and they may not end it now. That - as always - is in the claws of the Great One."

"Then what does their presence mean, your grace?" the priest asked, looking shocked.

"I believe Sir Fardon is right. That on this occasion, they are trying to do good, as we would understand it. After all, Our Father moves in mysterious ways."

"I pray you are right, your grace," the priest said unhappily. "I can only pray you are right."