He was speaking again. I could of course see his mouth moving, lips going through the usual superfluous gesticulations, tongue lolling about with the laziness of a liar. On and on he rambled. As if adding complications to his deception would make it more believable. It was almost tangible to watch him, watch him weave lie upon lie upon lie, stacking them higher and higher against him. I sat in the repose of boredom. Inside I was wroth with fury. This maggot believed himself worthy of becoming an acolyte of Laanx? Of worshiping the glorious Order of Him in this temple? When he clearly didn't even have the propensity to remain clean for more than five minutes of time? That tongue was gorged on lies. It was fat with them, slick with them.
And on and on he rambled, heedless.
“I studied for another five cycles, part of a small sect in the Lemur city of Xant Laan. There I was able to enrich my understanding of...”
I raised my hand for silence, and finally, finally that roving worm between his teeth stopped moving. I relished in the way he fidgeted for a few moments, could almost taste the tension in the air. I admit the power is quite wonderful. The power to silence with nothing but a gesture. It's taken quite a few cycles to attain it of course, but it's something to be reveled in.
“Aren Windspire,” I said, speaking his name with an intentional slowness. I fancied myself the judge, gavel in hand, ready to announce a sentence. But I was trapped there, unable to really do much except point out: “You never studied in Xant Laan, according to the records and research I've run on you. Unless you've changed your name for purposes not indicated, then you are lying.” I made a tally upon the resume he'd given me, red ink. It almost seemed to glow with condemnation. “That of course is only the first infringement and forgery here. The next has to do with your claim to have worked alongside the priest Sn...”
“Sir!”
I gratified him with looking up, slowly raising a brow and honoring his worthlessness with momentary silence. His face was flushed with either ire or embarrassment, though I hoped for the sake of his tarnished soul it was the latter. Fumbling, he moved his hands from beneath the folds of the scarlet cloak and clenched his fingers, as though by this groping he could snatch salvation out of the air in front of him.
“I...was merely very eager to enter into this most esteemed fold,” he said. Ah, the flattery. It always comes next, but it's really just another form of lying, with varying degrees of poisoned truth laid in. That's the worst type, really. The ones that taint the truth with their black, destructive lies. “I thought that by...by adding some better credentials...”
“Deception,” I cut in, standing finally. I enjoyed the reaction my simple motion had on the man; the way he backed up. I imagined the way I probably appeared, my symbol of purest silver around my neck, bearing the chain links, thick and heavy. Laanx's mask with its ruby-red eyes peering out accusingly, to match my own piercing gaze. I held the power here, a fact he was deliciously aware of. I was the high ranking Priest, leader of this sect, surveyor of all that took place beneath this roof and between these ruddy walls. He could do nothing but bow before the personification of the great God's order.
“It is nothing but deception. From the moment you walked in here you were deceiver. And any chance you may have had of joining my fold ended the moment you pressed pen to paper and wax seal to parchment and began to speak your lies.”
He lowered his head. His gaze was drawn to the ground, but his regret did not sate me. The very hand of Laanx was upon me, that much I could tell. I could feel his wroth flooding through my very veins. I wanted nothing more than to pluck up a pair of shears and remove that tongue of his. To watch him slowly drown, choking on his own blood. For a long while the idea filled me with an almost delectable delirium. I could see it in my mind's eye, and I felt my head cloud. I desired it so much, and why should I not? What better way to sate the lust I had for justice than to take matters into my own hands...
“Sir?”
Back to the ground again. The presence I felt was gone, vanished. The red of rage behind my eyes dipped back into complacency. I sighed, and felt brittle once more, even though my cycles are only fifty and half of my life is still before me. Suddenly I couldn't stand the look of the man before me. I felt my lip curl into a sneer.
“Leave me,” I ordered. “Never step foot in this hallowed place again.”
If he argued I swear I would have cut him down there. Forget the consequences. So much idleness. So much time watching the wicked get nothing but a proverbial slap on the hand with the ruler. Thankfully for him and myself he turned and left instead, leaving me standing alone once more. I went back behind my desk, staring down at my hands, which were bearing the first signs of wearing. My age was coming to me, I knew that much. I clenched my fist and studied the ledger before me, bracing myself for yet another potential to present himself.
“Next,” I called.
And yet another day that spirals into apathy.
