Jorin and Bort both snap out of the effects of the mental blast at roughly the same time. Shaddar watches with humor as they take in the blood-soaked alleyway in disbelief. Their costumes and faces are speckled with dots of blood, as the bodies of the constables lie scattered around them in a rough circle.
Bort at once loses control of himself and vomits messily on the ground. Jorin’s head snaps from one dead man to the next, his mouth working soundlessly at first, but then he begins to talk in loud exclamations.
“Mist demons! What happened? Look at all the blood…”
Bort drags a sleeve across his face while muttering, “Something happened to their heads. Their heads, by all the gods!”
Shaddar decides that he must be careful with these fragile and innocent fools or he will lose them as pawns.
He steps gingerly around the corpses and guides both humans from the scene while saying, “It was horrible. Horrible. Some people from the Guild came and… well, I am too much of a gentleman – I can not say what then took place.”
“What?!”
“The Guild of Villains did this?” Both men stop moving and stare at Shaddar with utter disbelief clearly written on both their features and in their thoughts.
Shaddar turns back to wave one hand languidly at the grisly scene. “What other guild could I be referring to?”
Jorin’s instant thought is very interesting: “The Guild of Heroes I suppose, but they would never do something like this. Why would they?” Shaddar tucks this information away for later.
Bort mumbles while fearfully looking at the slowly expanding pools of red, “But they’ve never done anything like this before…”
Shaddar gently touches their minds, causing them to feel trust and calmness as he speaks. “It appears that their methods have coarsened. There is only one thing to do, fellows.” Both men turn their faces back to his. “We will form our own Guild to oppose them. We shall be the Guild of Swashbuckling Rogues! You will be the first of our members and we will directly oppose the Guild of Villains.”
The sudden flare of pure cowardice that goes through both of the human’s faces turns Shaddar’s stomach, but he continues in the same tone, “And as founding members, you will get… five percent.” The fear in their expressions is now tingled with glints of avarice. Shaddar is amazed at the greed of these weak humans – as if wealth is the center of their entire world. He resolves to test another aspect of the greed humanity shares as a common character flaw. He quickly gives the minotaur a mental command.
Toothsnatcher steps forward and enters the conversation as instructed. With a deep, horrible voice he says, “Three.”
Shaddar nods briskly, “Ah, yes. I meant to say three. Three percent!”
The humans instantly respond to this challenge of their offered windfall by haggling. Jorin puffs his checks out and furrows his brow as he bellows, “Four! I demand it!”
Shaddar puts a calming hand on the minotaur’s burly arm and asks, “What do you think? Is this reasonable?” More mental instructions tell the thrall how to respond and he does so at once.
With a dissatisfied grunt the beast mutters, “Fine. Four.”
The delight at having ‘won’ the business deal is instant. Both humans look slyly at one another and Shaddar marvels at how easy they are to manipulate. “Are all humans this simple?” he wonders. It certainly appears to be so from the minds he has sampled thus far in the city.
“These fools do not even know the context for their arrangement with me!” he thinks with humor, “Four percent of what?” For a brief moment he imagines dropping a sticky mass of brains onto a table in front of these two. “Here you are! Four percent! What’s the matter? Don’t you like it? It’s your agreed upon winnings!”
He discards these idle thoughts and returns to the current situation. “Come! We must find a quiet place where we can discuss our future plans.” As he begins to walk towards what looks like a larger street, the two men stop him.
“Oh, not that way!”
“Them’s the streets. We should, you know, stick to the border zones.”
“What do you mean?” Shaddar asks.
“Well,” Jorin begins, “The streets are under the control of the constables and other proper folk. And the slums are where the Guild holds sway. In-between – where we are right now – that’s the border zones and a free spirit can make a decent living from both sides. Not as many eyes watching you here in the border.”
Interesting. Shaddar wonders who is actually in control of these people. How is such rigid order maintained here?
“Very well,” he says, “Perhaps you know of a suitable place?”
“Indeed I do,” Jorin says with a slight bow, “Follow us, sirs!”
The group leaves sight of the side-street. Left behind is a horrible scene of blood and gore as five bodies (sans their brains) are left lying in the alleyway in a massive pool of blood. Shaddar is glad that one of the constables escaped. The grim scene of death combined with the terrified report will serve to upset the balance of power in the city. A fine opening move – sure to upset and expose the players, whomever they are. “And to let them all know that things are about to change,” he thinks with malice.
As they walk, Shaddar feels almost uncomfortably full. Too many brains in too short a period of time. “I must pace myself or I will become as fat as the slave-warden, Baliforn. If he still lives.” Shaddar pushes that thought from his mind. Whether his native city is still populated or not, without the elder brain it will be a hollow place where he is the least powerful. Here in this new land, filled with easy brains and the promise of power, he can rule and grow his own personal talents unfettered.
Soon they arrive at a tavern. The sign outside names it as “The Jester and Hawk Meadhall”. At no time during their journey does Shaddar see any of the ruin or filth that he expects from a human city. He takes this as a further sign of someone having an iron-like grip of control on the humans who live here. Surely, left to their own devices, such simpletons would be choking on their own wastes!
There are only three other men inside the building, but they quickly leave after taking in the monstrous appearance of Shaddar and his minions. His tentacles make motions of amusement as they hurry off.
“Ho, there, Hawke! We need six pints!” Jorin calls out once they are seated. A man with white, sightless eyes nods and busies himself at the bar.
“Hawke is a good sort. Doesn’t say much and since he’s blind, he can always say that he’s not seen us for years.” Jorin confides to Shaddar in a low voice.
“Excellent. I can see that your contacts and talents will be very valuable to our endeavor. Exactly the kinds of… associates we need.” Shaddar almost used the word partners, but that would be elevating these idiots far above their proper station. Still, the praise hits the mark and both men look quite happy.
Shaddar introduces his thralls to the men, “This is Cutt, Toothsnatcher and Loolipo. You have already introduced yourselves as Jorin and Bort, of course.”
“And your name is?” Bort asks with a raised eyebrow.
“You may call me ‘The Boss’,” Shaddar replies smoothly, “It would not do for my real name to get out. A hidden leader will cause our competition to respect all of us the more.” Before they can question this he continues in a brisk tone, “ The first order of business is that of uniforms. I have admired your fine outfits – where did you get them?”
Bort fingers the outlandish paper mustache now on the table, “We made them ourselves.”
“Yeah, you can tell from their quality,” puts in Jorin.
“I can tell from their quality,” agrees Shadder amiably. “You must make or obtain outfits for my entourage that match your own. To be a new guild, we must all look alike – well, all of you must. As the leader of our band, I will retain a unique appearance, suitable for diplomacy. But they must look as you do – clothing, boots, and all of the accessories as well.”
The gnome is disgusted, glaring at the shoddy workmanship of the cheap-looking outfits. “I don’t want to look like them,” he complains in a weedy voice. The kuo-toa frowns and lets out an indignant squawk.
“Hairy lip not good for me,” Toothsnatcher grumbles. The minotaur is clearly annoyed at the idea of having to wear a curly mustache under his fine bovine snout.
Shaddar slaps one palm to the table with a crack. “Silence!”
His thralls stop their complaints at once, each of them nods once and they say nothing more.
Jorin and Bort look from the thralls to Shaddar with amazement that slowly dawns into high respect. From their thoughts, the muggers take the immediate obedience on the part of the thralls as a sign of how they should behave. This is not an unintended consequence of the conversation and Shaddar is pleased that the lesson has been taught as he wished.
“This organization will mask my activities in Big City,” Shaddar thinks. “Excellent.”
Chapter 1 < Chapter 5 Chapter 7 >
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