“You, tall one! No the other tall one! Yes, you! Move that heavy thing over there!” Cutt’s voice echoes down the hallway as Shaddar slides through the barely stirring underground lair.
Shaddar is pleased to see that the svirfneblin has reassembled his alchemical workshop much faster than the initial one took to set up. One factor could be the score or so of drow ‘assistants’ that Cutt has appropriated. So long as the pipsqueak doesn’t put on airs again, Shaddar is for anything that will speed the thrall’s productivity.
Shaddar’s hopes that the troublesome little gnome has learned his place is dashed as he hears the gnome continue to order about the drow under his control.
“Good job. Now move it back to where it was… Because I say so, tall one! Now get to it! Bwah-ha-ha!”
Shaddar sighs heavily. The work of a master is never done when the slaves are such as Cutt. He makes a mental note to come up with some random, but memorable, public humiliation to inflict upon the gnome later.
Loolipo is asleep in a damp corner of the pantry. He mind is filled with wet and bubbly dreams. Shaddar hopes that she did as he commanded last night or it will double his workload of thrall punishment. “What a trial it is to be one of the master-race,” he thinks wearily with a slight shake of his head.
There is an altercation in the kitchen. Shaddar quests outward with his mental feelers and discovers that it is only Toothsnatcher beating up a drow that ‘looked at him funny’. So it is nothing. All is well.
He sweeps past the kitchen and the tormented cries of the drow are soon masked by distance. He seats himself in the highest chair in the reception chamber and awaits for his minions to bring him reports. While he sits he reviews his plans for anyone who disturbs this new home he has conquered so recently.
He does not have long to wait.
First to arrive is one the junior-most of the stonemasons who installed Masaxle’s artwork throughout the border zone. His thoughts are a bit hazy, but it is clear that all of his fellows have gone to their beds. As the lowest man on the pecking order, he comes fearfully into the room. Shaddar waits like a contented feline, waving the fellow in with a toss of two tentacles. For some reason, this gesture does little to assuage the dark elf’s fears.
“Report,” Shaddar says softly. In the empty room, the words sound dead and flat.
“Yes, Great one,” the drow swallows nervously. “At once. I bring word of the placement of art.”
“I know… Go on.” A single raised eyebrow is enough to kick-start the fellow’s tongue.
“All of the artwork has been installed as you ordered. I was with Masaxle all night. We placed his greatest work on one of the main thoroughfares – one that gets a large volume of traffic during the day. He insisted that we return to watch the public reception of the massive drow face on the belly of a spider with tentacles for legs. Perhaps you know the piece I speak of?”
“I am not unfamiliar with Masaxle’s work,” confirmed Shaddar. “Continue.”
“It was wonderful,” the stonemason’s face softens with the memory of it. “Even the beast that pulled the human’s wagons and carriages reared up in alarm at the sight of it before turning about and returning from whence they came! The cries of horror from the beasts owners was doubly sweet to our ears. Masaxle wept for joy.”
Shaddar is pleased. As the stonemason continued to drone on about how correct it was for the humans to flee from areas that have been marked as under drow control, another enters the chamber.
“As well they should run!” cries the newcomer. “Such art is not for them. It is only right that they feel uncomfortable around it!”
“Indeed,” Shaddar says graciously as he waves the stonemason away, “You are one of the assassins assigned to watch over the lunatics, are you not?”
“That I am, Great one!” the drow says in obvious pleasure that he has been recognized. Of course, nothing of the sort has happened. His mind is opened wide before Shaddar and he plucked out the dark elf’s occupation during the night like a ripe strawberry from the vine.
The assassin continued once the stonemason closed the door.
“I can report that the work of the two madmen has, is, and will cause complete panic whenever viewed by the weak humans of this city! A huge skull has been painted on the ground of the main marketsquare in the slums with the word ‘SOON…’ for the lines.”
“And the reception of this?”
“No market today, great one!”
Shaddar’s tentacles flick in amusement.
“But the crazed noble has done even better. He entered the streets and tore into the mosiacs in the roads there. Ripping out stones until the holes themselves spelled messages of doom that will trip those that they provoke!”
“What kinds of messages did he manage?”
The drow assassin begins to count upon his fingers. “Let’s see…”
“The best and the worst always die first.”
“I have seen it! Despair!”
“Feasting! Always feasting.”
“Things like that. He painted much longer messages on the walls in red paint. Looks like many of the buildings are weeping blood, it does.”
“And these painted messages are lengthier? Are they coherent?”
“Some are. Some are just random words or scribbles, of course. The man is mad, after all, but there were some real dandies! Like: ‘Into the forbidden deep wounds of the Realm he has traveled – and returned victorious! Laden with gold and sharpened evil! Yes! Returned to kill the weak and the slow!’
“Don’t know where he came up with that one, eh? Or another of my favorites: ‘I have looked into the eyes of evil! An evil that hollows a man’s skull out, leaving only a gaping emptiness!’ Har-har! That one was causing strong men to faint, great one! He got to scream a bit at folks before he got to where we could catch him and lock him up for a rest. Shouting about how ‘The Boss is coming – coming for all of you’ and laughing like a fiend. Good stuff, great one.“
“Well done. Give my thanks and praise to all of your fellows.”
The assassin bows deeply and exits the room with a smile.
And thus it goes. For hours, a steady stream of pleasant reports continues to flow into his reception chamber. Shaddar basks in it with true enjoyment.
As the day goes on, Shaddar hears nothing but escalating reports of panic and rioting in the city by the humans.
And then the fear in the city raises to a higher level as it is reported that the humans have noticed that their slaves are no longer at work. There is no fresh bread or sweetmeats for their breakfast. Not sign of those who will make them lunch either. The hobgoblins are wandering the public areas of the city – looking for someone to tell them what to do. Their idle hands soon cause trouble completely independent of Shaddar’s influence.
Reports of whispered conversations between people, both in the slums and in the streets filter down to Shaddar. No one knows what to do. No one knows what they will eat. No one can find a tavern that is not out of ale. No one knows what happened to the mirror that was sent in for repairs – and it was my grandfathers!
Hawke’s spies are invaluable. They are able to get much closer to the source of possible resistance and travel to many human-only areas of the city. From them Shaddar learns that the constables have offered a huge reward for any information about the Guild of Swashbuckling Villians. But this is but a pittance compared to the kingly sum offered in the slums for Hawke’s head! The Villains are combing the slums, seeking any information they can find about the rival guild. It is quickly becoming public knowledge that the new guild of villains is not to be trifled with. The Guild of Swashbuckling Rogues, their uniforms, their methods – all of it is being bandied about with fearful whispers and outraged screams.
“Clearly, the death of Flame has someone mildly upset,” Shaddar thinks wickedly when he hears that news. “And they still think that Hawke is responsible? Amazing how dense these humans are. I wager that their brains wouldn’t satisfy me for more than an hour’s time.”
There is some argument and posturing among Shaddar’s minions in all of this naturally enough. After all, only he is fully conversant with all of his many schemes now. Hawke’s men are alarmed by the drow artwork. The drow are indignant that humans are part of the Great One’s army. Lumpy and palehair brawls are a rising problem.
Work, work, work…
And through it all Shaddar sees other patterns as well. Reports seem localized and some parts of the city are not reporting any trouble at all. That will never do! Shaddar sends runners to cause mayhem and commotion in areas of the city that are reported as ‘quiet’ by Hawke’s spies.
It is a hive of activity with news and minions coming and going for hours. It is a spreading stain on the calm of the city. It is a city-wide uproar.
It is marvelous.
“It is but a precursor to the coming doom,” Shaddar thinks forcefully while taking a short break at around mid-day from the exhilarating, but tiring work of ruining the city.
Chapter 1 < Chapter 58
Chapter 60 >
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