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Chapter 15 tangent: Scourge's Slaughter
“...so I told him, ‘Look, pal: sweetbreads can be any kind of shape. It could be braided, or in a loaf, or flat. But a sweet roll is roll-shaped, specifically. So if someone stole your sweetbread, that could be anything. But if it’s a sweet roll, then we’ve got something solid to go on.’ Whoa, who’s that guy?”
The guards at the Noob Town gate abruptly stop talking as they notice a figure approaching along the road. He is near enough that they can see he is dressed in sackcloth and rags, a roughspun hood drawn low over his downcast face.
“You think he just got word we’re giving out free money,” one guard asks the other.
“Maybe a straggler? One of those homesteaders out in the woods,” the other guard suggests.
“Could be.” They observe the man in silence. His pace is neither hurried nor lackadaisical. Diligent would be the word, if you gave the guards two minutes with a thesaurus. Soon enough, he is at the gate. He walks right up to them and stops, but does not lift his gaze as he speaks in a low, gravelly voice.
“Where is Phyr?”
“Beg pardon,” one guard asks.
“Where is Phyr,” he repeats urgently.
“What is this, a riddle?”
“Tell me where Phyr is. Now.”
“What, like a campfire? If this is a joke, you should’ve opened with, ‘Knock, knock’.”
The man exhales sharply, then says, “Green hair. Black eyes. Looks like a noob.”
“Oh, that Phyr,” the guard says. “Jolly fellow, jaunty garb? Yeah, I know where he is. Wait, I just remembered a joke! Knock, knock.”
“...who’s there,” the man asks through gritted teeth.
“Not Phyr. He left town like a week ago.” The guard grins, evidently pleased with himself. The other guard just watches the exchange, struggling to conceal his amusement. This is the most entertaining thing he’s seen all day.
“Where did he go,” the man asks, undeterred.
“Dunno,” the guard says with a shrug. “Demigods don’t exactly file their travel plans with the town guard. Whaddaya want from me?”
The man waves a hand dismissively and says, “Guise.”
The spell hits the guard before the word registers, and he says amicably, “Try the guild halls, just down the main drag here. Plenty of guys looking for tradework, if you’re hiring. Sorry, I didn’t take you for the type. Anything else I can do for you?”
The man casually turns a palm up toward the guard, almost as if to shake hands, and says, “Choke.” A ring of deep purple energy forms at the guard’s throat, and his eyes go wide. The other guard reaches for his sword and speaking stone, but the moment of shock delays him just enough for the man to turn a hand in his direction and say, “Bind.”
Ethereal bands materialize around the other guard’s limbs and mouth, holding him still and speechless. He watches in horror as his partner claws frantically at his own throat. His fingers pass effortlessly through the ethereal ring, and his face soon reddens. He reaches for his speaking stone, activates it, and moves his mouth urgently - but no air can pass in or out of his lungs, so no sound is made. He falls to his knees and looks up helplessly at the man, who only stares down at him in impassive silence. Turning toward the town, the guard sees passersby who appear not to notice the scene - then he spots a ring of deep purple energy along the ground, not ten feet away. He crawls desperately toward the edge of the ring, but the man reaches down to grab his ankle and pull him back.
The man picks up the speaking stone and turns it off, then refreshes Choke on the one guard right before it wears off. He stays there, saying nothing, methodically maintaining his spells every five turns as unheeding townsfolk walk right by the guards struggling for their lives in the otherwise lovely afternoon. Soon, the choking guard turns cyanotic, then his eyelids flutter and his body goes limp as he loses consciousness. The man draws the other guard’s sword from his belt and says, “You don’t mind if I borrow this, do you?” He waits a moment, knowing full well that the guard can do nothing to indicate his assent or refusal, then says, “Thanks,” and begins decapitating the unconscious guard.
The grisly deed done, the man stands before the other guard and looks him in the eye. “Now,” he says, “Do you want one more chance to cooperate?” Try as he might, the guard can do nothing to answer. “Last chance,” the man says, letting the offer hang for a teasing moment. “No? Suit yourself, then.”
Short minutes later, the man walks into the Last Inn and strides purposefully to the bar. The barkeep smiles at his approach, and the man says flatly, “Where is Phyr?”
“We got one going in the hearth, if you’ve a chill.”
The man sighs and says, “These guys couldn’t tell me where he is, either. I sincerely hope that you can be of more help.” In a flash of horror, Guise breaks as the barkeep recognizes the disembodied heads of two regulars, Bob and George, staring lifelessly at him from atop the counter.
Charlotte returns to the host stand right as the door opens and a nice man walks in. “Evening,” she says brightly. “How can I help you, sir?”
“I’m looking for a dwarf with green hair. And a… ‘jaunty garb’.”
“Oh, do you mean Phyr,” Charlotte asks. The nice man nods, and she says, “He was here about a week ago, but he left with Alice and Vector.”
“Where did they go?”
“She didn’t say, just that she’d be gone for a while, and that Derek’s in charge.”
“Where is Derek?”
“Just in back. Right this way, sir.” She drums her fingers on the host stand once, then steps away and beckons for the nice man to follow. He adjusts the large sack slung over his shoulder and follows without a word.
Charlotte leads the nice man through the kitchen to the office and knocks on the open door. Derek looks up from his work and says, “Yes?” A look of concern is swiftly replaced by his butter-melting smile as he sees Charlotte and the nice man at her side.
“This nice man is looking for the boss,” she says. “Did you say you had a delivery for her?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, I can take any deliveries. I’m managing Alice’s affairs while she’s in Altilluvia-” Derek’s eyes widen, and he claps a hand over his mouth. “Whoops! Pretend you didn’t hear that,” he says with a self-conscious chuckle. “Dunno how that got out! Boss’ll have my head if she finds out I let slip where she got off to. That was for emergencies only!”
“Not to worry,” the nice man says, “This definitely qualifies.”
“Ho, then - if that’s the case, I can raise her on a speaking stone right now.”
He reaches into his apron pocket, but the nice man waves him off. “No need for that. She’ll find out soon enough.”
“Is that so,” Derek asks, curious but not alarmed. “If you don’t mind my asking, what kind of emergency doesn’t warrant a quick heads-up?”
The nice man raises his hands to the sky, dropping the large sack over his shoulder. Several objects completely beneath concern tumble awkwardly out, each about the size of a bowling ball. The nice man concentrates for a moment to set the scope of his spell, then says plainly, “Erasure.”
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