An older teenage Ork enters your temple, seeking atonement for the life their herd made them live. What advice, if any, would you give them?
Brother Andrew looks around him at the temple. He always loves visiting the old sites; such history and community displaying the continuity of his faith. A few parishioners greet him. He is not here enough to remember all of their names, but he has mental notes reminding himself who they are; “Recently Widowed,” “Lost a Child,” “Insincere Dinner Invitation,” “Sickly Farmer.” He hopes it is not cynical to recognize that while the faces change from year to year and decade to decade, the hearts do not. Some people come for guidance, others for charity, still others looking for little more than social standing or business contacts. While the people may change and the surface circumstances may vary, he looks at the ornate depictions around him of stained glass and statues, and he is comforted by their consistency; unchanged since he was a small child.
He notices other attendants whispering to each other and looking pointedly at a corner of the narthex. He notices that a young ork is standing quietly to himself, while the humans around him give each other raised eye brows and knowing glances. But Brother Andrew sees no sign of the bloodlust or terror that are supposed to be the hallmark of that people. He sees no pillager or rampager or render of flesh… he sees only a broken child, looking for comfort in a place whose hallowed rafters have doubtlessly rung with a condemnation of ork-kind. Brother Andrew is again reminded that the places where he finds comfort don’t always offer comfort to others.
The ork stands before a statue, barely daring to look at it. Wet eyes attempt to bore a hole straight through the marble floor it seems, and Brother Andrew wonders if the rarity of ork tears would make them a potent addition to some mystic potion. As the cleric walks beside the ork, the other parishioners seem to hold their breath to listen in. Brother Andrew looks at the statue before them and asks aloud, “Do you know her name?”
The ork startles at the words, and then waits to see if the cleric adds anything else. This is not the first time he has been addressed in the temple, but it is the first time the voice was this gentle. The ork clenches his jaw, reluctant to leave his spot, but knowing that an altercation would only prove how unfit he is to be here.
“Justice,” he finally admits.
“Yes,” says Brother Andrew. “She’s pretty famous. You can’t miss her with those scales of hers. She’s always got them around somewhere. You know what they’re for?”
“She weighs the deeds of mortals, to see if their good deeds outweigh their evilness. If not…”
Brother Andrew interrupts him, “Enough about her. Did you know she has a sister?”
The ork turns to the cleric for the first time. He was not expecting a change of subject, nor for the cleric to look so suggestive. The small audience that was watching him and Brother Andrew would find Justice the perfect topic to point out to an ork, and the penitent knows it. Justice is why he is here. Justice is why he is fearful of this place, but Justice is also why he is drawn here. He knows which way his own scales lean; he knows his own personal history and what Justice demands of him; he remembers the screams and blood and the fury. And for all those reasons, he knows what Justice demands.
“What’s your name, son?”
“…Adrud.” Nobody in this place had ever asked his name before.
“Well Adrud, let me show you another statue. If you’ve got a thing for Justice and swords, you’ll probably like this one. It’s actually one of my favorites.”
Adrud turns hesitantly to follow Brother Andrew. He knows this is all the precursor to condemnation. He knows this will eventually lead to a reminder of what the orks have done, of what he has done, and why he deserves the retribution of this congregation. But by his own actions he has earned that condemnation. He deserves no less than judgement. He has condemned himself as much if not more than anyone else.
As the pair travel across the floor to the transept, Brother Andrew ignores the gasps and whispers as people watch an ork enter the space reserved for the faithful. Some assume he is escorting the ork out of the temple and are grateful, while others are disappointed he is being so gentle with the brute. All are relieved when they turn the corner and are out of sight.
In the eastern transept, Brother Andrew stops and looks at another statue. Adrud steps alongside him and looks up.
“Like I said, she has a sister. She’s not one of the headliners; few will write songs in her name, and nobody is going to war in her honor. But Clementia is one of my favorites.”
“Clementia…?” The ork had never heard the name before.
“Yeah, sometimes it’s translated as ‘Mercy’ or ‘Forgiveness.’ Or ‘Redemption.’ She and Justice are sisters, but sometimes they don’t really get along. Siblings, eh?“
The young ork looks at the sword and staff held by Justice. “Where are her scales?”
“Oh yeah, a lot of people miss that at first. Look under Clementia’s left foot.” The scales under Clementia’s foot were broken and discarded. “Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not opposed to Justice. She definitely has her place. Without her, we couldn’t have a civilized society. But the same goes for her sister. The trick is knowing that, sometimes, the scales aren’t actually helping, and you just have to throw them away.”
“But… but then how… didn’t you say her name was ‘Redemption?’“
“Oh yeah, absolutely. So how do you achieve redemption if you don’t have a scale? That’s the trick, isn’t it? See, actual redemption isn’t about doing enough ‘good’ stuff that it makes up for the ‘bad’ stuff. The truth is, nobody could ever get ‘redeemed’ that way. No amount of good deeds will bring a person back to life if they’ve been murdered. No amount of good deeds will erase a victim’s trauma after being attacked. I mean sure, if you steal some money you can give that much money back, but violence… violence doesn’t work that way.”
The ork once again turns his face downward as his eyes begin to well up. “So… there’s no hope.”
“What?! Of course there’s hope. They’d toss me out on the street and suspend my preacher’s license if I ran around telling people ‘there’s no hope!’ Of course there’s hope! And that’s it right there.” With that he pointed at the broken scales beneath Clementia’s foot. “The hope is to stop playing with the scales. The hope is to stop weighing and re-weighing and re-re-weighing your sins, hoping that maybe someday you’ll make up for it.”
The ork’s face looked at Brother Andrew in confusion. “But… isn’t that a little too… easy?”
Brother Andrew smiled, “Oh absolutely it is. And it’s the hardest thing you’ll ever do. See, Justice demands that our sins and guilt be weighed and that punishment is meted out. And you can live your life in service to Justice, and many do. But, as the sacred text says, ‘…All they that take the sword shall perish with the sword.‘ Living your life in service of Clementia is nothing like living it in service of Justice. But that is the choice you have to make.
“You have to admit that you can’t do anything to make up for your past misdeeds. You can’t undo all those terrible things, and you have to admit that you’ve got to stop trying. To truly be redeemed, you realize that you aren’t the one that tips Justice’s scales. You must rely on somebody else to take away the scales, break them under foot, and say that you are good enough just as you are. And then you do good, not to tip some arbitrary scales, but you do good simply out of love.”
Adrud looked at Clementia; the desperate pleading in her face, the gentle but firm touch in her fingers, and the defiant steadfastness of her stance over the scales. “Does she have devotees?”
“Absolutely. Come, I’ll introduce you to some of your brothers and sisters.”
