Shaddar and Toothsnatcher look very out of place with the well-dressed and excited people whom they stand in line with. The thought of, “Why are these two freaks in line? Aren’t they entertainers?” runs through most of their minds.
The exceptions are those members of the Guild of Villains who are running this scam.
“Ha! These fools literally throw their gold at us!”
“That man in the purple vest and wearing a gold monocle is here to inquire about his dog’s health. Best get that tidbit to Martus.”
“Say… Isn’t that tall fellow wearing a funny uniform… Hold on… Oh, no! The Guild of Swashbuckling Rogues!”
Shaddar notices that the woman who thinks this last thought let’s not a whiff of her sudden flare of dread touch her face, but laughing, she motions to an urchin to report her discovery. As Shaddar’s eyes follow the lad he sees that he is making a beeline for the urgently beckoning woman. The urchin then moves quickly to the side of the man who is in charge of the scam and whispers fiercely into his master’s ear.
“Toothsnatcher,” Shaddar mentally commands, “Bring me that male that is leaning down to speak to the small human. I would have words with him before he finishes speaking to his diminutive accomplice.”
The minotaur grunts in acceptance and strides through the crowd towards his target. He reaches the man just before the grubby-looking boy leaves. And grabs him by one arm. The street-smart urchin takes one look at this and seems to vanish into vapor, he runs away so quickly.
“Please, sir!” the man is saying quietly, trying not to draw too much attention to himself as yet, “I am here for the Well of Fortune, not whatever sport you are offering. I know it seems like a long wait, but we must all be patient!” He stares at Shaddar once the minotaur brings her to a halt in front of him.
“A long wait? Forsooth! I have seen many of these fortunes delivered – all of them nearly instantly,” Shaddar says matter-of-factly. “Now don’t make excuses that are so easily disprovable! Be honest with your true reluctance to speak with me. Martus, isn’t it?”
Martus gapes at his countenance and slowly it dawns to him that the minotaur is only following orders – making him a leader of some kind with the Guild of Swashbuckling Rogues that he has heard rumors about.
“I require companionship as I wait for own fortune,” Shaddar murmurs. “I wonder if my fortune will be satisfactory. What do you think? Will it?”
“I wouldn’t know, sir! I just like to watch! Never gotten a fortune myself!” Martus sputters.
“Really?”
“Yes. I’d rather not know my future. I don’t trust the indifferent fates who deliver the fortunes.”
“The fates?” Shaddar laughs, “Bah! This parody of prediction is nothing but a hoax that you play on poor ignorant fools whose minds are soft with disuse!” He waves a hand at the crowd who has now grown quiet – watching this unheard-of spectacle.
“If you don’t believe, then why are you here?” calls out one of the shills mockingly.
“Yeah!” calls another, “Don’t complain about your fortune taking too long when you haven’t even thrown in an offering!”
“I’m waiting for the ‘fates’,” he chuckles at the word, “to get any messages that they may require first.” He leans over the side of the well and calls down, “Ready for me down there? Ah, good! Here you are, then!” And he drops a coin into the well and drops the bucket down after it.
The crowd is stunned at his poor manners and boorish actions, and they remain quiet and still for the most part. Shaddar can see various members of the Villains moving slowly about, spreading word as to what is going on here. One of them sprints away from the crowd and down a side street.
Soon the silk rope jerks and twists and Shaddar huffs, “About time.” He motions to Toothsnatcher and his thrall cranks the bucket out of the well.
The people make shocked noises and exclamations as the bucket is hauled into view. The folded boat is made of black paper.
Shaddar nods to Martus and points with one tentacle to the dark fortune. “Read it.”
“What?” Martus exclaims.
Shaddar’s voice drops to a venomous whisper, “Read it…”
“But… But, it’s your fortune!”
Shaddar folds his arms and leans back slightly. “Read. It,” he repeats slowly.
Hesitantly, Martus picks up the dripping boat and unfolds it. He swallows nervously and begins to speak, “Your fortune, sir: ‘You will have great calamities as the Villains treat you harshly.’ Oh! What a terrible fortune! I’m so sorry, sir! How unfortunate!”
“’The Villains will treat me harshly’?” Shaddar quotes with mockery. “Not very detailed is it? Tell me, Martus: What do you suppose this means?”
Martus shrugs and makes confused noises, but his thoughts answer Shaddar’s question: “Getting a black fortune is a signal for our band of brawlers to follow the victim and give them a sound beat-down. I’m so glad he waited for one of the runners to get down to Sharnette in time for her to send it!”
“I have no idea what it portends, sir! But a black fortune bodes nothing good!” The crowd behind Shaddar murmurs its agreement.
“Hmm,” Shaddar says, bringing his clawed fingertips together. “Not much a fortune at all, then. In fact, I’d call that more of a… misfortune. Wouldn’t you say, Martus?”
“Well,” Martus replies hesitantly, “Yes? But luck comes to all in both flavors, sir – good and bad!”
Shaddar shakes his head and speaks in a sorrowful tone on voice, “I must say that I am not pleased with this fortune, Martus. In fact – I am decidedly displeased. And so I must vent. Toothsnatcher? Make my displeasure known to the fates that dwell at the bottom of the well, will you?”
With a bellow, the minotaur picks up Martus over his head and hurls him with all his power down the well. The man’s descent is rapid and his screams barely have time to begin before they are cut off with a meaty, wet thump.
The screaming of a woman echoes up clearly from the well opening as Shaddar turns to face his disbelieving audience.
“Ah! The fates!” he says with a laugh, “They do not sound so indifferent now, do they?”
At his words, the spell of horrified catatonia is broken and the people run away in random directions, screaming and carrying on as if a demon is at their heels. Some are calling our for aid, constables, heroes, or their mommies. A few have put what they have seen together with the rumors that have swept the city and are screaming about the horrible Swashbuckling Rogues.
The crowd of people melts away, leaving behind an angry and determined group of about 30 shills and brawlers, advancing towards Shaddar with furious eyes.
“Deal with them,” Shaddar says to his thrall.
“You want them all in the well?” grunts the minotaur.
Shaddar opens his arms wide and says, “Dealers choice! Feel free to act to the limits of your internal restraints!”
“What restraints?” Toothsnatcher laughs with satisfaction and moves towards the approaching men.
The Villains pause as they take in the snorting, enraged form of the minotaur and his unholy magical weapon. Toothsnatcher waits to move at full speed until all of the humans are within the perimeter of his ability to chase victims down before he moves.
Shaddar sits on the edge of the well to observe. “This will be quite entertaining! Ah! Such a pity that it will be over so soon…”
When the time is right, Toothsnatcher uses his greater height on the stairs and his mighty thews to leap over the men’s heads and lands behind them – cutting off their ability to escape. Then he begins cutting them down as a farmer would sickle wheat. As some of them drop their clubs and saps, the minotaur moves like a well-trained border collie – herding his victims back into one group where they easily fall prey to his axe.
Gore soon fills the air with the screams of the humans. The barbarian’s deep rumbles of laughter form a horrid melody to the symphony. Shaddar finds it quite soothing music.
“You are very talented, Toothsnatcher!” he calls out in encouragement. His thrall responds to this compliment by showing off on the cattle that his master has selected for butchery. Shaddar applauds the display of fine prowess. Not as entertaining as a performance brain eating, but it is the best his thrall can do and he appreciates the effort.
Most bodies have been completely dismembered by the time the snorting and blowing warrior is done with them. None escape alive. The few noncombatants who were watching with wide eyes, rush away as Shaddar stares into their eyes – just to let them know that they are not hidden from him.
“Excellent,” he thinks. “And now to sign this work of art…”
Shaddar writes a fortune of his own, using blood for ink, on the side of the Well: “You will have great calamities as the Swashbuckling Rogues treat you harshly.”
Toothsnatcher grunts in satisfaction and rips the blood-soaked paper mustache from his snout. “Me need new costume… again, master. But I plan ahead.” He reaches into a small pouch on his belt and withdraws a fresh paper mustache and affixes it.
Shaddar can tell from his thoughts that the thrall thinks this is the best way to treat his hated costume – ruining it in the blood of his enemies. Shaddar approves.
“A good start,” Shaddar thinks, examining the scene of horror around him. “Let us see what other entertainments and opportunities for showing my dominance are to be had in the slums this day!”
Chapter 1 < Chapter 52 Chapter 54 >
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