by A Uscila
Luckily for Luke - the manager seemed to display a meager amount of manly solidarity and provided a safe route.
“Apologies sir, but I will have to ask you to leave” - He simply stated with a barely visible and obviously professional smile. Who could blame him? There probably was no one out there, who would be capable of smiling genuinely while staring right into that mug of a face Luke had. Well, unless it was a mocking smile. Or a smile moments away from erupting into laughter. Not the good kind either.
Either way, being not the brightest lightbulb out there - Luke managed to miss the escape door, opened by the manager.
“What about my stake? I’ve been waiting for an hour!” - He complained, as if the stake was the real issue in this particular situation. Either Luke was thick as a log or he was so used to such and similar developments, that none of it properly registered on his radar.
“You’re gonna let him leave just like that?! You should call the police on him!” – One of the females intervened once again. As if unaware that the so recently given suggestion was ignored for a reason. Well, now it was about to be ignored a second time.
“I’m afraid your wait will be unrewarded. Please leave” - Displaying the persuasion of a steroid junkie, the manager “helped” Luke up, handed him his bags and “guided” him outside of the establishment. Followed by unfriendly stares, sneering and the out of the ordinary, even extremist phrases thrown at Luke by the female trio he managed to antagonize.
“I’m turning your picture into the association of women for women, you creep!” - The brunette shouted towards his leaving back. She just had to slip in another jab no matter what, didn’t she?
That does it. Three times was the charm. With newfound determination - Luke quickly scurried away from the restaurant. Once he was released by the manager that is. Making a note to rate the place in a three point five, mainly because of poor company - Luke decided to head home. As quickly as possible. Listening to that song could no longer be delayed.
Chapter 43
A multitude of steps echoed out of a dark tunnel that opened up into a spacious stone hall. A glimpse of light approaching through it - getting larger and brighter with each passing moment. Voices accompanied the rhythmic clicking of feet upon stone - the words far from distinguishable as of yet.
Two rows of tall, dark stone columns led straight from the tunnels exit - the rows eventually turning into two half-circles, both meeting at their ends. Lit torches hanged on every second column - illuminating the very center of the expanse.
In the middle of the column formed circle - stood a long wooden table. Chairs of the same material standing on both sides of it – with an exceptional one at the very head of the table. Bigger, elaborately carved out - thought made from identical material.
High, did the stone pillars rise towards the dark ceiling. Its expanse unlit and left in the clutches of blackness. That, accompanied by the complete lack of furnishing - the previously mentioned appliances being the only ones present - made one feel like the room itself was extremely spacious. As if at least two hundred people could quite easily fit inside. Plenty of place to stand in and around the column formed circle.
At this point, an additional light finally emerged from the dark tunnel - revealing a party of seven individuals. Every single one unique in their own special way.
“This is quite nicely done, Macrosh. I am very pleased” - Commented Wail, being the figure at the very front of the traveling group. His usual drained figure proudly advancing forward - with a chin raised high and back bent ever so slightly. Both hands crossed behind it. His usual dark robes fluttered with each step taken - the red markings on the attire lightly reflecting the light from the torch held by his orcish colleague a few steps back.
“I ask for no greater joy, great one” - Macrosh replied with a slight bow, which didn’t do much for the difference in size between the two. As usual these past weeks - the brutish orc favored those around with a glimmer of his looks. Choosing to forgo any form of headwear - preferably one which covered all of his facial features. Metal plates clacking with each of his broad movements, the usual slab of the same material hanging from his back.
An audible sigh came from behind the orc, as Willow was unable to keep it in. Her eyes rolling in unison with the exhaling. She wore her usual choice of tight, leathery attire - the only exception being a lack of a cloak. Heck, even her bow and arrows were missing, the only available weapon – the favored dagger that hung by the waist. Its elaborate form more than enough to catch one’s attention.
Willow had her dark hair tied in a neat little bun - displaying a lean pale neck for all to gawk at. Always the attention addict this one.
Obviously, the sigh did not go unnoticed - even though only one individual chose to react to it. Unexpectedly - it was a small fiery creature, with a full mane of black hair. Which danced around with each and every playful skip made. Seems like the little fella didn’t feel like walking normally. Sparks of flame dancing about the little demon every now and then - escaping either from the ends of hair or long, slender fingers.
“You just couldn’t hold it in, now could you?” – The creature displayed a full mouth of sharp teeth, once the question was out there. Two swirling pools of fire turned right towards her in an unpleasant display of attention.
“It wouldn’t be like her to do so, after all” - A sarcastic remark wiggled its way into the conversation, as it came from an unlikely fellow.
Stealing the role of a sarcastic prick, Bob stepped between both Willow and Sorro - his comment followed by a far from pleasant smile. His muscled chest and arms in full display - as shadows cast by the light around danced upon them. Seems like he still chose the path of an amateur exhibitionist - the only clothes on him being a tight pair of shorts. Accompanied by a leather strap that held a scabbard over his back - faithful Demon’s Bind sheathed within. Resting for another day of bloodshed.
Bob, with his new attention-grabbing tendencies, might have just used this as an opportunity to force Willow’s gaze to rest upon himself. Poor fella - so in need of lecherous stares.
“What is that supposed to mean?” - Willow replied, unable to ignore the second comment. Forced to be caught up in the pace of someone else.
To that, Bob only shrugged with the same smile still in full bloom, while Sorro cackled in his usual ominous manner. Though that might have just been him being playful.
While the three exchanged stinging lines, another figure used this as an opportunity to approach Wail - a youth in his supposed twenties. He had a small frame, short and untidy brown hair. Scruff, tagging along - though keeping unusually far away from his orcish step-father. Might he by chance, be a little angry over being abandoned during their previous exchange with the bandit overlord? Who knows?
He wore simple civilian clothing - a buttoned up shirt, ragged pants. Not a weapon in sight. A small pouch, being the only sign of personal possessions, hung from his waist. With hastened steps, he quickly approached Wail’s side, only to join a conversation that seemed to have died just recently.
“T-the keep is made out of st-tone and iron…” - He commented - “Lord” - Scruff later added uncertainly - “Fire won’t be a problem as with most st-tructures that have wooden frames. We also had a geomancer help us with construction - they are very good with st-tone”
“Geomancer? The heck is a geomancer? Some sort of earth mage? - Wail asked with an edge to his voice. Apparently, the psychotic warlock did not enjoy to be left in the dark. Or feel in any way inferior to others. Guess that explains why he was always so agitated.
“A generally non-combat profession. It is usually employed in const-truction and is quite in high demand. Though it’s most popular amongst the permanent inhabitants of Alternative Reality. There was one amongst the villagers. He was glad t-to help” - Scruff replied.
“The villagers are extremely thankful, lord. They are eager to serve” - Macrosh quickly intervened, bowing ever so slightly with a pr
edatory grin in full display. Supposedly - he was trying to smile.
“Thankful? For what? I didn’t do anything deserving of thanks. Unless there is some form of charity of which I am unaware?” - The greedy warlock asked with a sudden edge to the voice, eyes slightly narrowed as he glanced back towards both Macrosh and Scruff.
Scruff visibly flinched at that - though it was hard to say if that was out of guilt or just fear.
Macrosh on the other hand, took it upon himself to persuade the moody warlock of his own greatness.
“Nonsense, great one! You provided the people with a refuge. A respite. You protect them from harm without asking for pay!” - The orc went on idealistically, throwing about praise without a care in the world.
At this point, the group approached the end of the column corridor - taking their rightful seats around the table. Wail - as was expected, took the seat at the end of it. Choosing the seat of supposed “greatest” importance, Wail replied to the orcs ramblings after a brief pause.
“Asking for pay? What would they have payed me with? Rocks?” - Wail replied, a scoff escaping his lips - “There is nothing free in this world, Macrosh. I gave them a place to stay, sure. But I demanded submission and manpower from them. They can stay here as long as they wish. But they are mine to do with as I see fit!” - He continued in a pretentious manner. During which a barely noticeable skulking figure of abnormally mechanical movements emerged. Dragging its limbs, supposedly gripped by rigor mortis, along. Minion number one - always the silent escort, sneakily reached Wail and stopped in its tracks once behind the master.
“But…” - Macrosh attempted, giving a shot at some form of defense.
“Thus I need no thanks from them. All I need is their obedience” - Yet was cut off by Wail, who decided to deny praise aimed at himself. A weird thing to do, without a doubt. Highly unusual.
“Speaking of thanks…” - Unexpectedly, Willow decided to join in on the conversation - “There’s the matter of freeing most of the mine slaves. Seems like Embalmer promised them freedom if they joined the fight during our scuffle with the goblins” - She brought the matter to the table as if it wasn’t related to her in any way, her sight more preoccupied with her own nails than the issue at hand. Quite the tactical step. Shrugging off any blame before it could even be placed.
“He what?!” - Suddenly standing up before the seat could even warm up, Wail asked in complete exasperation. Seems like the supposed deal was news to him. Even minion number one seemed a little caught off guard, as the corpse stumbled back a few steps - pushed back by the warlock’s sudden movements.
“Well, that’s what he promised. Thus he remained in the mining camp as a means to calm everyone down, before approval could be granted by you” - Willow added, continuing her role of a messenger. Eyes glancing around everywhere except towards the one she was talking to.
At this point, both Sorro - who was preoccupied with a minor form of exploration, dancing about between the columns and Bob - who was seated on Wail’s right, began to laugh. Or cackle - in Sorro’s case. Seems like both found the situation quite hilarious.
Wail did not seem amused, as he slammed both of his palms onto the table.
“You think this is a joke?” - Wail snarled at the two, which did somewhat calm Bob down. Didn’t work on Sorro at all - even though none of the two deemed it necessary to reply to the obviously rhetorical question - “Who gave him the right to promise such favors to begin with?!” - He added, with voice raised up a notch.
A silence followed, as none seemed eager to jump in. Since that would obviously result in most of the blowing up emotions being slammed into their faces.
“I hope none of you forgot why those slaves are there to begin with?” - The magician inquired in an agitated tone, being the one who both started and interrupted the uncomfortable silence. His eyes narrowing down once again as he carefully inspected the expressions of most of those present.
“To create some form of a work camp - which would provide a cheap and disposable labor force?” - Surprisingly, it was Willow who replied. Choosing to speak in a nonchalant tone, one that even drifted towards mild boredom. As if the topic was sorely obvious to a dreadful degree.
Both Bob and Wail were caught off guard, as the two stared at the moody ranger with eyes wide open. Everyone else seemed less surprised - minion number one being the bottom of the barrel. As one wouldn’t be able to discern the expressions of a disfigured corpse even after trying.
Sorro – unique as always, continued to prance and skip around the chamber like a mobile candlelight - oblivious to the discussion for the most part. Only choosing to partake in it in the form of a remarkably annoying cackle that echoed across the hall. An unpleasant combination - as both the cackling and the pale light traveled across the darkness surrounding the table.
“Well…yes. Mostly” - Wail finally replied, after allowing a remarkably long stretch of silence to follow Willow’s accurate reply. Though it was finally interrupted when Willow turned her gaze towards the magician with a raised eyebrow - an unspoken question of “Well? Aren’t I right?” clearly visible.
“But only partially” - He added, as Wail finally straightened his back, leaning away from the table - eyes piercingly glaring at the beauty from above - “You forget the reason for the need of such a cheap labor force. You forget what loss it was supposed to compensate for…” - An edge slowly crept into the skinny warlock’s voice. A chill that forced Macrosh to audibly gulp. Who knew such a big lug of pure muscle would be weak with verbal arguments?
“Not this again…” - The personification of feminine beauty sighed, while leaning her forehead on an extended palm in a completely exhausted manner. Bob - surprisingly, seemed to react as well. As he lowered his head ever so slightly - gaze turning to the side in clear guilt.
“Yes. Yes “this” again!” - Wail exclaimed - “Do you have any idea how much we lost with that caravan? Do I need to repeat myself again?” - A rhetorical question, without a doubt - as Wail glared at Willow, continuing his angry rant without waiting for an answer. Most likely because he saw that Willow was about to retreat with a loud “no!”. Before she could do so though - “Well, we lost a lot. Not only in gold and silver, but also in scrolls and books of probable historical value. Not even mentioning both arms and armor - which we’d be most likely using right now. We’d have a proper army, instead of a shabby gathering of poorly armed outlaws!”
Willow rolled her eyes and sighed, visibly giving up on any attempts of defending her position. Bob? He was simply happy none of that was aimed directly at him. While both Macrosh and Scruff decided to stay out - just in case. Who would be stupid enough to walk into a crossfire anyway?
“Both I and Bob wasted a lot of time transporting and hiding all of that loot from the Tomb of Borelus. We also invested quite a bit to transport it here and sell it” - At this point, Wail’s tone seemed to be lowering, though a chilling edge entered it - as he straightened his back again. Wail had a tendency to lean forward every now and then. His sharp gaze still locked on Willow. Seems like certain behavioral quirks were carried across during this dysfunctional relationship. As in - the tendency to blame someone for all the wrongs in the world. Which used to be Willow’s weapon. The tables have turned.
“Would you stop laughing?!” - Turning in a sudden motion, Wail once again raised his voice - as he shouted at his obnoxious little demon. Who continued the antics through the whole duration of the conflict. Jumping around and cackling like a creepy old man. With psychopathic tendencies. The demon didn’t stop now, either.
At this point, Wail visibly gave up. His facial features fell - the magician slowly slumping back into his seat. Silence enveloped the hall for a moment or two. Well - excluding the less frequent, yet still present cackling of Sorro.
Everyone seemed reluctant to break the calm before the storm. Willow was busy being angry - arms crossed on her chest, while, probably unconsciously, biting her lower lip. Macrosh seemed sligh
tly restless - accompanied by Scruff, as both shifted in their seats.
Bob? He was busy staring at his “master”. Eyes seemingly reflecting some amount of empathy. Observing as Wail sighed heavily and rubbed his temple, the same hand covering up his eyes. As if trying to awkwardly hide the magician’s expression.
Finally - it all ended as Wail suddenly slammed the table with a clenched fist. Anger once again resurfacing on that lovely mug of his. Seeing as the change was quite sudden - almost everyone ended up being quite startled, even Willow jumped ever so slightly. Forced out of her anger.
Of course - that’s excluding both minion number one and Sorro. Nothing startles those two. Especially minion number one.
“Eventually, it’s all their fault…” - Wail vaguely stated in an agitated tone - “They dared to steal from me?!” - Once again, the unexpectedly impulsive male stood up with force, starting another racket for god knows what reason - “They’re at fault for all my headaches!” - He turned to Willow once again - “And so are the slaves! So no. There will be no pardoning. I will work them to death, if I must. This debt Will. Be. Repaid!” - With obvious emphasis on the last three words, Wail seemed to finally be done with his rants. Or emotional venting to be more precise.
“What? What do they have to do with your loss?” - Willow seemed quite surprised by the conclusion. So was Scruff and even Macrosh looked at least a little bit unsettled. Did not seem like anyone thought that was the correct manner of solving this issue. Except Bob. Loyal Bob. Though more like…escapist Bob. He probably didn’t care as long as problems were avoided.
“But great one…this could provide ample manpower…” - Macrosh joined in with a high-pitched plead.
“No! I shall hear none of it!” - With an energetic swipe, Wail cut off both of his “advisors”, completely refusing to listen to reason - “I don’t give a fuck about the morality or my image! I lost a lot of money, and I will be reimbursed one way or another. Until that happens, the whole fucking city is my enemy, for all I care!” - With another overdone swing - Wail slammed both of his arms on the table once again. Seems like he had a thing for drama - as if that motion was going to shut anyone up.
