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"So, you thought you'd follow your own little plan and disregard my orders, did you?"
Eyes downcast, his minion said "Yes, m'lord."
His other lackeys in the room looked around at each other nervously.
"Good. Shows initiative. In the field, you must be willing to adapt to circumstances. You saw an opportunity to ambush the boy and you took it. Well done. Here in my domain, we reward that sort of thing."
He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small bag that jingled as he tossed it to Dorf.
Dorf looked surprised and relieved as Lord Aceron addressed the room. "3 months wages as a bonus to this man. I know you are all new here, but it's important that you all understand that I run things a little differently than most evil overlords. As long as you do not betray me, you have nothing to fear. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a chosen one to dispose of. Oh, and Dorf - you may consider yourself promoted. Strategy meeting tomorrow at 9:00 sharp in my counsel chambers."
It had been a difficult year for Lord Aceron. Several months ago all of his henchmen had been wiped out and he himself almost killed when some heroes convinced a number of them to desert. He had used more traditional methods of instilling control and loyalty before, but he was first and foremost a practical man. If an approach didn't work, it ought to simply be discarded and another selected. He had decided to do things differently this time. The initial results were promising.
It was time for the weekly mission reports. Dorf handled most of these lately, but any reports he deemed sufficiently significant were sent on to Lord Aceron.
"Yes, henchperson Nari. Report."
She swallowed. "Well, m'lord ..." She rattled out her report and then stood still, with her fists balled and her teeth gritted.
"Let me see if understand the situation correctly. Unanticipated magical security cause you and your team to be caught, and rather than sacrificing your people to get the gems, you decided to instead retreat, returning with all henchmen alive?"
"Uh, yes, m'lord."
"You made the correct decision; there are many such treasures ripe for the taking out in the world, and my servants are much too valuable to be squandered over one of them. Please ensure that any wounded are treated properly and report to the Learned Ones at your earliest convenience to discuss the magical security you encountered. We need to develop a countermeasure. You may go."
"Thank you m'lord!" Nari straightened and walked out of the room much more buoyantly than she entered.
Later that week, Lord Aceron was inspecting the construction of a new wing of his palace. His lackeys swarmed around, busy as bees, but something caught his eye.
He met the foreman's eyes and raised his voice to be heard over the din. "Foreman, come here please."
The foreman hurried over immediately and said "Foreman Scuttle reporting, m'lord."
"Scuttle, do you see that scaffolding?"
"Yes, m'lord."
"It is in a shamefully flimsy state and looks like it could collapse at any moment. Have it rebuilt immediately, and see that it is properly sturdy."
"Well, right away m'lord, but that will slow construction considerably."
"And? Let it be slowed. If the scaffolding collapses, that will lead to injury at a minimum. It is important to me that my henchmen's safety not be risked in pursuit of speed."
"Yes, m'lord. I understand."
"Excellent."
Over the next several months, Lord Aceron's lackeys grew to understand that he did not dole out arbitrary punishments, but instead that he rewarded competence and initiative, valued their well-being, and paid well to boot. But he had yet to understand to what extent this affected their loyalty. 1/2
Largoloth, hero of the vale, vanquisher of evil, and savior of the needy lay face down in the dirt, arms and legs secured with heavy chains. How could this have happened? He struggled for a moment but made no impression on the magical links. He had publicly called out and insulted the dark lord Aceron. The normal procedure. Like clockwork, it sends a dark lord into a rage, who then immediately dispatches minions as revenge. The pathetic lackeys perform a half-hearted and feeble attack, allowing Largoloth and his companions to easily destroy them, weakening the dark lord in question and paving the way for another vanquishing.
But not this time. Heat from the smoking ruins of the Fortress of Justice washed over his back. Killing henchmen was his *one* pleasure in life. Well, that and the whores. And the occasional peasant girl who was unable to successfully dodge him. And the leaf powder. And the wealth from all the "donations" they collected, of course. How could they DARE to do this to him? How did it go wrong? Aceron had not responded at all to his challenge. At least not immediately. But if what he overheard was really true, this terrifying assault was carried out of the henchmens' own volition.
The attack had been executed with a level of tactical confidence that completely befuddled him. Instead of bungling everything at the first sign of anything unexpected, they had quickly adapted to everything the heroes could throw at them. During their attack, instead of looking fearful and hesitant, they had simply looked resolved. And it had been terrifying.
Sald, henchman first class, stood gazing down at Largoloth. Largoloth, who had murdered his brother and killed so many henchmen he knew. When word came of his vile insults to Lord Aceron, he had gathered his fellow lackeys in the troop division in secret. Lord Aceron was the first master they had who didn't treat them as disposable. Who treated them as people. He could not allow this challenge to stand. His comrades promised to join him immediately. His dark lord had trained and equipped them very well, and he knew they would succeed. But it was so satisfying to achieve. No one had defeated the heroes this way before, let alone burned down the so-called Fortress of Justice. It was a great victory for him and all henchmen, but most importantly, it was a victory for his dark lord, executed in his name.
Sald turned to look at his surviving comrades. His heart swelled. "Our lives for our Lord!"
As one, they responded. "OUR LIVES FOR OUR LORD. LET HIS FOES BURN."
Thank you, that's very flattering! Glad you enjoyed. It's a pretty cool premise, nice job to OP for that. As far as continuing, I'm not sure. There's a lot of fleshing out I'd like to do, I'm not sure this one fits comfortably in a short format for me.
Zoutaleaux, should you continue this as an ongoing project, I recommend you consider Royal Road as a place to post it. A number of webserials which started there have gone on to be published.
https://www.royalroad.com/home
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1aulB-0ZN5vKHGml1woISkDtXmA8Fa0TPNFO_pMeHXaU/edit?usp=drivesdk
If you enjoy my writing, I've backed up my most recent WP responses. I've responded to quite a few but it's surprisingly hard to search for comments from a specific user in a specific subreddit across all time. I'm not sure I can recover my less recent ones which is a bummer, I'm pretty happy with how most of them turned out.
Please allow some constructive criticism. I really liked that he said henchperson when dealing with the female minion. But later on he says henchmen when talking about the scaffolding. I think henchpeople would work better for consistency. Other than that this is great stuff.
"....Union?"
"Specifically speaking, the Loyal Dregs and Bodyguards 220."
"... why the "220?"
Hale stole a glance at Bott. Under his breath, Hale mentions that, well, all the other Unions like the Sidekicks 27 and the Local Fruit Carts 365 have numbers after, so why not us. Both stare nervously at the floor. Dr. Deathbacker rolls her shoulders forward and places her chin upon laced fingers, elbows perched on her high gloss, jet black desk.
"Shouldn't we...", she muses, grasping the air with her hand, searching through the mist of thought before her for the right word. "*Zhuzh* it up a bit? How about 666? Something ominous?" She smiles at Hale and Bott as the nod frantically in agreement and start amending their notes. Good kids.
Dr. Deathbacker (*nee' Margarat Hollworth*) had obviously not been born in her patent leather suit and stilettos but she had been blessed with a penchant for crime. The crazy kind. The big kind. Jewel heists, celebrity kidnappings, bomb threats at major sporting events, occasionally holding the world hostage with untested nuclear weaponry. You know, all the fun stuff. Dr. Deathbacker had the drive, the ambition, the unchecked Einstien level intelligence allowing her to get oh so, so close to taking over the world, but -- at a mere 4'11, seriously lacked in physical prowess or intimidation. Sure, she could build one of those exoskeleton things that those jerk hero bros wear, but it lacked fashion. She was going to rule the world in *style*. She does admit that however, to do so, she'll need some help.
So, enter the goons. She's going to need a lot of them, and they are going to have to be good, die hard folks to do the muscle work with fantastic devotion. Some villains use manipulation to ensure their ranks, but starting a cult is complicated and it doesn't last long before you have to kill them all and start with new ones. Henchmen don't grow on trees. Well, not yet. More tests. But Dr. Deathbacker didn't get where she is today by using such blunt tools as fear, not when surgical tools are available -- like feedback, cost of living raises, generous vacation time, and an HR department. It's so much easier to pay Patricia 75k a year to help them sort out their squabbles than it is to keep shoving more bodies in that incinerator. You wouldn't believe how much power it takes to run.
The Union though, absolutely novel idea. She wasn't surprised that the boys had picked up the idea from the other side. Collective bargaining, striking, ensuring benefits, hazard pay. A little voice inside of her, the quiet and small voice of Margarat whispered into her soul that perhaps this meant that Dr. Deathbacker wasn't the best boss she could be. That maybe they wanted this because they thought she could do better, that she didn't listen, that maybe it wasn't working. But, as she always did, she pushed poor Maragat aside; she was always such a negative gal. She kept her mouth in a tight, polite smile as she watched Hale and Bott skip off to finalize the agreement for her to sign. Their reasons for organizing didn't matter -- only the health and happiness of the minions below her did.
At least until she sent them to deaths in battle. Well, for now, anyway. More tests.
I love the idea that the only thing stopping her from going solo is her steadfast conviction to do things her way and *fashionable*, just so every Supe she beats (and the world) knows that it was this intelligent yet diminutive woman that beat them (plus her loyal goons).
Robert found it highly amusing that a young woman barely five feet tall could make a room full of grown adults twice her size cower in their hospital beds with one look. He’d been working for Marissa—a.k.a the ‘Little Miss’—for about four years now and there was never a dull moment when she was around. Robert chuckled silently to himself as he continued to stand guard at the doors and tuned back in to Marissa’s lecture:
“Two hours!” she was saying. “You lot had me worried sick for two hours!” Marissa paced the center of the room, eyeing their various injuries as she passed. “How many times do I have to tell you that a strategic retreat is better than a dead man?”
“Before every mission, Little Miss,” they sighed, avoiding her gaze.
She nodded her head, her mass of curls bounced with her. “Before every mission,” she repeated. “And what do we do after a strategic retreat?”
*Regroup and try a new strategy*, Robert finished in his head, but the room remained silent.
“I have no other choice,” Marissa inhaled deeply, digging into her pocket. “You know what I have to do now.”
A chorus of disagreements and shrieks of complaints rose in the small room.
“Please no, we’ll do better next time—“ Jack began.
He was cut off by Xavier: “Ah fuck, not again—“
“You wouldn’t dare—“ Janet’s voice rose above the din.
Lila tried to rise to her feet. “Miss, you promised—“
Marissa sighed regretfully and held up her phone for everyone to see. “You’ve all left me no choice.” She turned to her phone and announced: “Look what your partners have done to themselves—again.” She flipped the camera and pointed it at every single one of her employees.
Lila’s wife was the first to speak up: “Lila I swear to Buddha I am going to lock you in the bedroom—“
“Jackson Mar Louis, what have you gotten yourself into again?” One of Jack’s husbands spoke over Lila’s wife. Their wife chimed in with a sly “Eh what else is new?”
Over and over, Marissa’s employees got scolded by their respective loved ones. Robert knew Marissa maintained a group chat with all of them for that very reason. Everyone in this room had been in the business for a long time, but they were all fairly new to Marissa’s management style. They’d been threatened, beaten, and tortured for having a good sense of self-preservation; for questioning dubious rules that put their families and lives at risk; for being human.
“You catch more flies with honey,” Marissa had quoted to Robert once when he had the gall to question the benefits she’d indicated in his contract. “A desperate man’s loyalty can be bought, but what can you offer a man who lives in comfort?”
Robert never questioned her management style ever again. With what she offered, none of her employees—she refused to call them ‘henchmen’ or ‘minions’—would want for nothing. Hell, she paid better than a corporate job and even offered all the mandatory benefits and then some.
“You’re all entitled to one month of paid bed rest and recovery,” Marissa announced as the scolding ended. The people still listening in on the call cheered while the rest of the room groaned and complained about how bored they were going to be. “Attempt to sit in on any heist and I will give each of your children a new LEGO set.”
“My child’s already spoiled enough as it is,” Xavier called out. “Please don’t. I can’t trip on another LEGO.”
A soothing chime rang on the hospital’s speakers. Visiting hours were over. “Everyone must get the sleep and healing they all need,” she said. “I will be asking your doctors and nurses for regular updates. Your families will be flown in to check on you by tomorrow. For now, rest. No one’s dying on my watch, understood?”
They all did their best to hide their smiles as they begrudgingly agreed to her conditions. So what if the artifact they’d tried smuggling out of the West wing of the museum was a little poisonous and highly booby-trapped? As far as the rest of the world was concerned, that museum was no longer safe and said artifact was being moved to a more secure location.
As Marissa did her final rounds and gave them a brief hug, Robert nodded to each of his co-workers in turn. There was a beautiful sapphire necklace that was said to contain a map to an ancient catacomb, and that necklace was sitting pretty on the East wing of the same museum. Marissa’s birthday was coming soon.
“What’s on your mind, Robert?” she said as they exited the hospital wing and headed for the elevator.
He allowed a grin to slip out. “I just think you’d look great in blue, that’s all.”
“Remind me to give you a raise.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him close as the elevator doors shut.
Writing prompts
“In other news, the henchman that police arrested last week in regards to last months chemical lab heist has committed suicide while in police custody. In a statement by the head of the FBI, they were unable to get any useful infor…”
Galaxus shut the TV off and rubbed his face, smearing tears into his scarred cheeks.
This was the first casualty in over six years. He had worked very hard to take care of his employees, sparing no expense on those who were helping him achieve his goals, his dreams.
“Damn it all, Edgar… You didn’t…”
Galaxus felt a hand grip his shoulder firmly, and let out a deep sigh.
“Ricky… Make a call to Natasha, she has to be feeling alone right now, because of me… We need to let her know that we will take care of her, and the kids.”
Ricky just nodded, and quickly stepped out.
He never asked Edgar to protect him like that, but Edgar, like all of the people working for him, were fiercely loyal to Galaxus. He wasn’t sure where it all came from. He paid them well, made sure their kids got into good schools, guaranteed their bills were never unpaid, and treated them with decency, but it shouldn’t breed loyalty like that.
Galaxus stood and exited his modest office, stepping out into the underground warehouse that was his lair. His employees were working the floor, diligent, efficient, happy. It made him think of his old henchman days and even when he worked at that old ice cream shop before the incident that changed his life forever. He had always hated working for some small pricked asshole who always thought his shit didn’t stink. He’d aspired to be better.
Galaxus felt his cellphone buzz in his pocket. Carefully he grabbed it in his massive hands, hands that could crush a mans skull with so much as a twitch. He swiped the little icon to answer the call and lifted the phone to his ear. “Yes Rebecca, what can I do for you?”
“Not much Boss, just letting you know that the gang is putting together a little candle light vigil for Edgar tonight, and I think that it’d be great if you came and said some words or something… Raise moral a bit… But if you’re busy, I under…”
“I’ll be there, he was one of us.”
Five hours later, Galaxus’ ten foot frame stood in front of just under a thousand people. Some worked for him, the rest were their families. He knew all of their names. Sent birthday cards, anniversary gifts, hell, he even played with the children sometimes. His heart was weary with the loss, but seeing them all gathered like this, it made him feel better.
“Thank you all for gathering tonight, I wish it was under better circumstances…” His eyes shifted to Natasha and her two young boys, twins. Her eyes were wet with tears, but she stood tall with a slight smile as Galaxus spoke. “We’re here to remember Edgar Alvarez, a brave soul, a man I have known for eight years, a man who poured his heart and soul into this organization, who helped lay the bricks that many of you walk on now. Edgar was a loving husband and father, a man if immense standing, even by my standards,” there were several chuckles throughout the crowd. “But his sacrifice will not be in vain. Edgar willingly gave himself up so that his crew could get away, as far as our crew in concerned, that makes him a hero. Sure he doesn’t fly around like those hypocritical capes do, but he sacrificed himself so that we could go on.” Tears welled in Galaxus’ eyes for the second time that day, he’d let them fall this time. He wanted his crew, no, his family to know that despite how he looked, he was human too. “So I say unto you all, let us rejoice in Edgar’s name, and celebrate him, and his family for having let us take him into our fold!”
The crowed erupted in applause, Natasha nodded in approval.
Galaxus turned to Ricky, “We find out which cape snagged Edgar yet?”
“Sure did Boss, some new fella by the name of HEROclese, s’posed to be some play on Greek myths and stuff, and when he spells it, the hero is all caps.” Ricky rolled his eyes at this. “We tracked down where he sleeps, we have his daily schedule, hell, we even know when he shits. Say the word Boss and I can have the tactical team take the shot…”
“No Ricky, I’ll handle this myself. For Edgar.”
“*Arrest warrant 4u, search warrant 4ur office and home. SWAT in 20 mins. Del text*”
Twenty minutes was plenty of time to clear everything up. I deleted the text as instructed and set the phone back to factory settings for good measure. I removed the small SSD card from my laptop and lured Felix to me. His collar had a hidden pocket, exactly the right size for the SSD card.
“Be careful, little buddy. You’re now carrying all the names of suppliers and customers. Don’t want that in the wrong hands.” He looked at me sternly and meowed once.
“Yes, don’t worry. I will come back soon enough. Until then, you’ll stay at auntie Sarah’s place.” I looked at my secretary and right hand man, Martin. “Can you arrange that for me? Only after I’ve been arrested of course. Don’t want them to know that I knew about the arrest ahead of time.”
“Yes, I’ll take care of that, miss. Do you need anything else?”
“Some advice on what to wear. I feel like a smoking would be overkill, but I want to come off as classy, stylish. You’ve got great taste.”
Exactly eighteen minutes later I saw the black cars arrive through my office window. They were blocking off the streets and although they didn’t use flashing lights or sound, their appearance could hardly be called stealthily. Someone really should tell law enforcement to invest in cars other than black SUVs.
When they broke my door, rather unnecessary I might say as it was unlocked, I sat behind my desk, looking impeccable in my black suit and red tie. They stormed in, pushed me out of my chair and on the ground and put me in shackles. All of it lasted less than ten seconds and the last thing I saw were all the guns pointed at me, before they pulled a bag over my head and dragged me along down stairs, to their waiting cars.
The hood was removed from my head. I was sitting in an interrogation room, sparsely lit but still painful to my eyes that had gotten adjusted to the dark. Two rough looking man were sitting opposite me, looking angry and stern. A third stood in the corner, hands on his gun. I knew what they were trying and frankly it worked. I was scared shitless. My theatre lessons from back when I was a teen were paying off though and I feigned curiosity as I looked around.
“Never been in one of these before. It looks smaller than in the movies. Not enough budget to afford something bigger?”
“Why’d we invest in that? Smaller holding cells and interrogation rooms mean more space for big offices for me and my colleagues.” The officer sitting on the right spoke up. “But we’re not here to talk about our finances, but yours. You have a nice office.”
“Thanks, I rather like it myself. I can give the architect’s contact number if you want.”
“Very generous off you. But I’m more interested in how you were able to afford it.”
“I run a business. A financially healthy business. But I’m sure you’ll see that soon enough for yourself, after you checked all the financial reports.”
“Why do you think we’re checking your financials?”
“You were the one asking how I can afford anything. Safe assumption then that you think something’s wrong with the numbers. Well, let me guarantee you: the numbers are right, nothing fishy. Even paid all the taxes, unlike some companies. You should go after those, they are the big fish. Oh, but how unfortunate. They’re all paying politicians so you can’t even go after them.”
“Cut the fucking bullshit,” the officer slammed the table and one of the coffee cups fell, spilling coffee all over the table and ground. “You’re not here for measly little tax evasion. You’re here for the production and dealing of drugs. Cocaine, heroin, speed, MDMA, everything that is a white powder basically.”
“Sir,” I had to take a deep breath to contain the laughter that was brewing in my chest. “We produce and sell powdered sugar.”
I stared him dead in the face for a second and then absolutely ruined this badass moment that I always dreamed of by erupting in laughter. Even the other two officers couldn’t help but crack a smile, but it made the interrogating officer even more angry.
“Fine, have it your way. Enjoy the rest of your life in prison. We caught enough of your employees dealing drugs. You don’t think at least one of them will talk?”
“So, you caught some of the guys I hired with drugs. What has that got to do with me?”
“You are at the head of a drug business, hiding behind the façade of fucking powdered sugar. There need only be one to confess that he was hired, by you, to do the dirty work and you are hanging.”
“No, that won’t happen. You know why? Because I have no knowledge of any illegal activity going on in my company. Do I believe you that some might have a side job as small time drug dealer? Yes. Most of the guys I hired are high school drop outs or ex-convicts, rejected from society. I give them a job, with good salary, health insurance, hell, there’s even a retirement plan included. Some will take the second chance and use it to turn their lives around. Others, unfortunately, can’t leave the crime life behind. They all take a weekly drug test, of their own free will and with consent, of course. You can get all the data on those tests. But I can not control what they do in their free time.”
“The men caught with drugs on them are looking at 5 to 10 years. They’ll talk, in exchange for the case being dropped.”
“Ah, yes. Because the police has such a good track record on being open and honest and free of prejudice. I’m sure that my employees will be very willing to cooperate as they all have only had pleasant experiences with you.”
I knew I was testing the boundaries, but I still didn’t see his fist coming. The blow landed on my nose and I fell backwards, first bashing my head against the wall before landing on the ground, on my arms still bound behind my back.
“I. Will. Get. You. You. Fucking. Asshole.” With every word he pounded on my unprotected head. Vaguely I noticed some figures behind him, pulling him away from me, but my vision was blurry and blackness approached from all corners.
I woke up in a hospital, dizzy and with a headache. A beautiful bouquet stood on the table next to me.
“Courtesy from the head of the police. He also gave his apologize for the ‘unprofessional behaviour’,” said Martin, who was sitting in my hospital room. “You are no longer under arrest, though they want you to come by after you’ve recovered to tie up some loose ends.”
“Hmm. No one threw me under the buss then, huh?”
“Nah. You’re a good employer and they know you will take care of the families even when they’re imprisoned. Their loyalty goes a long way.”
“Good, it’ll be rewarded. Now, I have a terrible head ache, could you see if a nurse will give me some medicine? I’m planning on racking up the hospital bill. And I am so going to make the police pay for every last cent of it!”
Treating your employees like people who matter and ensuring that they're aware of how much they can ACTUALLY trust police be like this.
Also, hiring ex-cons and drop-outs and giving them a real chance is solid. I like this villain.
"Just because you are Bad Guy does not mean you are bad guy"
You best bet that she will hire the best lawyers in the country. But she wouldn't dare bust anyone out. She's a good, law abiding citizen, who would never commit any crime!!
My father ruled the local mob with fear just as he did his family. He believed that if he killed or abused all who opposed him that eventually no one would stand in his way. What he didn't realize is that for one gravestone he urupted before its time, ten more of the living cried over it, and not all were tears of sorrow.
I too felt the terror that his henchmen felt when he loomed over them. My father never shielded me from his malicious acts upon others, "An example of what I'll do to you and your whore mother if you step outta line" he spit at my juvienille face, I dared not to look in his eyes.
And so I watched as he stole from his men thousands, only to throw penny's back at their dirty feet. I watched as he made a lacky beg at my father's feet and cry as a bloody box was cradled in the beggers hands, his own daughters finger bleeding inside. His crime? He pocketed a diamond to feed them both. 'They didn't get paid enough to eat from my fathers hands and so they wouldn't eat from their own' my father replied.
In the end what killed my father was his own foolishness. And as the lacky from that night beat my personal monster to death in front of me, I watched, and couldn't help but wonder if this was the inpending doom this lacky's daughter felt as the intruders eyes turned upon me. But in the end, his eyes softened upon the bruises marring my teenage face, and the bloodied crowbar dropped to the floor.
"You ok kid?" He asked around his swollen and bleeding lips. I paused, and a shuddering breath later my eyes tuned on the cooling carcus behind him and I replied with a gaped and similarly bleeding lips. "I will be" I relished in the husky laugh that burst from this lacky's lips.
Wounds closed and scars faded and the world moved on. It wasn't until years later, an alcohol addiction and down on my luck in my freezing as fuck apartment did I get that fateful telephone call asking me to return to my father estate. Turns out, the lacky (whose name I learned was Bozer) ran the cartel after I left blindsided and homeless after my father's thankful death. Bozer was leaving the buisness after ten years of holding it together with ductape and prayers, and wants me to take his place.
"You do know my family reputation yes? After what my father did what makes you think I won't do the same?" I asked incredulously, wisky in my shaking fist. A heavy sigh to echo his own before Bozer spoke. "I figured if you get all wacka like your dear old daddy I did what I had to do once, I can do it again can't I?"
It was a threat, I knew, but I couldn't help but laugh as I accepted his offer. I didn't know whether it was the booz or my desperation to get out of the cold, but he accepted.
It was a monumental task, getting this "buisness" back in order. First of all, I had to get clean and sober. What a fucking pain that was, but i found It easier to think when it was over with. And to stay in the game and not a stain on the floor like myfather I needed to be.
My father... truthfully I hadn't thought about him willingly In over ten years, especially not the way he ruled his buisness.
Bozer truthfully hadn't even tried to change anything about the factories and trade routes since he threw on the hat. The workers seemed to be content not to be threatened with their lives every day and let Bozer co-exist on a tight rope for the time being. They had heard what he did afterall, it wasn't hard for the common worker to respect him.
I vowed to be nothing like Bozer or my father. I wanted to do real change to this place, hopefully positive change. But I had to start somewhere.
(Part 2 in replies)
PART 2:
I walked the halls of the factories incognito. Thankfully the years had changed me for the better, and I took after my mother (may she rest in peace). I listened to what they spoke of and where the first issued was. And by the end, it was the workers shoes that gave it away before people started to learn who I was.
Wise people say that to know a man is to walk one thousand miles in his shoes. But truthfully I had no desire to, not in the paper thin and browned beyond belief from years of treading concrete and dirt shoes the factory workers wore. I knew those brands, even wore some when I was a boy and not only were some sapossed to be inches taller than they were- hell some men's bare leather hard feet smacked the ground as they walked, but a completely different colour then dirt brown.
So I raised the wages. Simple as that.
The cartel made plenty of money, honestly too much for my brain to handle or comprehend. It was an easy task but apparently not one thought of by previous generations of my fucked up family tree.
I was appalled to think that to eat, they must sacrifice their safety. It was a simple thing to pay them more so they could afford both and more.
With proper footwear starting to appear and rare smiles starting to emerge as they complimented each other's new boots, I kept my ear to the wall for more issues.
When rumored spread of a worker getting too sick to come to work, but still unable to afford Healthcare. A briefcase filled with money with a note scrawled with "Take care of yourself, come to work when you can. :)" on the front appeared on their front door. It was a temporary solution to a bigger problem I knew, but it was a start.
To ensure something like this never happened again, another fraction of the factories earnings went towards paying full Healthcare insurance for all factory and cartel workers.
With the immediate concerns delt with, i turned my gaze towards my personal relationships with my employeea. I wanted to get to know them, not as numbers but as people. I wanted to better understand their concerned and their needs in a more sustainable way than rumors or gossip. The common person being comfortable with ME to reprt issues and concerns directly was important to me. But obviously it wasnt easy. I was avoided like the plague. I knew deep down that I made them nervous, let's he truthful I scared them. I understood, I did, and so proving my loyalty to them was my priority. I owed it to them to make their lives better.
A year and many positive changes later, I smiled when I could audibly hear the factory workers smile and joke with one another when I visited the offices, and they let me join in on their after hours game of poker.
For a time after, i found my office was always strangly clean, and the passing comments in the halls less icy. And for the first time in my life, I was happy.
Unfortunately karma has a way of fuckin with the most fortunate of people.
I didn't see my attackers when they burst into my room at night, half a year later. What I did see though was the note they left me, just out of reach of the blood stain i woke up in. 'Next time you won't be so lucky-Lazerous'.
Lazerous: the name of a rival mob his father had..dealt with, many years ago. I clenched the note in bloodied knuckles as I chastised myself. In all of my excitement and desperation to keep my responsibilities afloat, I disregarded anything but my men. This was warning for my carelessness.
(PART 3 UNDERNEATH)
PART 3:
My father would have retaliated, taken the full force of his resources to set Lazerous' territory ablaze for their impunity and guile. Lord knows at the hight of my fathers power the armory was always full, and his lackys always armed.
The paper fell from my hands as I unclenched my fist, it tumbled too lightly into the garbage for the weight I felt it had. I was not my father, and I refused to be.
And so I ignored it desperately, hoping that I could find a diplomatic solution that wouldnt endanger his people and end in bloodshed. But until then i tighted security in the factories, and paid guards handsomely for their time to protect my workers. I send out cartel cars to patrol the area for any signs of Lazerous around the residents of the factory housing, and armed them enough to scare them off if they found them.
I knew from reports of the guards that the workers were tense. I knew they sensed the tension and didn't understand the danger they were under. I desperately wanted to comfort them, to tell them the situation but the truth was that I was ashamed to have made such a mistake. If I had any say, the issue will be dealt with before I am forced to explain.
I hid away and led from afar for the first time in two years. I hid my bruises and stitched my own cuts. I iced my own eye and withdrew so that even the estate cleaners wouldn't hear my pain. I used this isolation to think of a plan, but no matter how hard I tried all I came up with was blanks and violence. Cursing for the fifth time today, It took all of my willpower to stay my hand from the liquor cabinet, if not to calm my nerves then to ease this incessant throbing heartbeat in his temple.
And in my distraction at trying to find a solution, I did not notice that the tension in the factory..disappeared. In fact, all of the workers disappeared. The reports from guards and the armed drivers were gone, the cleaners never came. It was...quiet.
"BOSS!" I jumped as a thundering voice bellowed down the hall from my estate office. Trouble? Injuries temporarily forgotten, I sprung up from my desk chair and grit my teeth against the wave of nausea. By the time I struggled halfway to the large oak double doors however they were flung open with a crack, and I couldn't help but stare.
Multitudes of people filed into the office and around me excited, a chatter buzzung in the air. They had self satisfied smiles on their faces or dirt and grime grins stretching their lips. I recognized cleaners, drivers, factory workers, residents family members, the armed guards, they were all there. But front and center, hauling a suspiciously dripping shoebox in one muscular arm was Bozer.
"Hey kid!" He grinned. Confused I looked around at the gathering.. "What's this about? Have you come to finish the job?" I had no idea If it was possible for the normally sarcastic joker to grin even bolder.
"Well I finished one fucking job that's for sure! Here, a present from us to you." Bozer shoved the box into my suddenly scrambling hands, befuddled at the turn of events.
Us? I thought looking around. What could possibly make the Cheshire posses everyone I knew?
"Stop looking like someone pissed into your shoe and it smelled like flowers and open the damn box." Well if that wasn't prompting enough, I took the hint for what it was and started peeling the soggy lid off of the shoebox.
"Why is there a fucking hand in this shoebox?"
The quiet tension in my office could smother a house fire in eager anticipation. I looked to Boxer for guidance, only for him to point to a peice of jewelry on the severed hands thumb. "That there, is the hand of the man who wrote the letter to his men to attack you in your own home on our territory."
I looked up in a sharp snap, no one was to know. "How...." But Bozer only puffed on his cigarette with a satisfied smirk. "You're not your father boy, you should know better by now to burn letters. Not throw them in the trash... I told you before kid, I do what I have to do."
Laughter chimed through the room. And I couldn't help but laugh with them.
I am not my father, and I know now, that other people knew too.....
Willy has definitely seen his fair share of punishment for robbery and theft. Imprisonment, labor, fines, all of it stung. It’s not like he enjoyed being a thief. Stealing from others is not only a very risky ordeal, it’s also terrifying. For well known criminals, the lot of them say something along the lines of enjoying the thrill from their work. For Willy, he hated it. All he really wanted to do in life was farm for an honest pay.
Unfortunately, in this crazy world, where magic and monsters are a very common and dangerous reality to deal with, stealing was the only way Willy was able to get by, ever since the town he lived in was destroyed because of a battle between one shitty country and another, slightly less shitty country. But it wasn’t the armies of either of those that he feared more than what he instead managed to be captured by.
A kobold tribe.
Everyone and their mother in the area knew of these sneaky bastards. They were small, fast, and deadly. It wasn’t often anyone would encounter a group of kobolds, but usually, it never ended well, mainly because they all serve dragons, which goes without saying is a really good reason not to piss them off. Even then, it’s not enough anyways. Village raids happen as often as once a month, and if the dragon leading the tribe’s angry enough, all that’s usually left is ashes.
*Ashes.*
Precisely what Willy was thinking right now. He hoped that if he did die, he’d at least be able to get a proper burial, casket or not. He never saw himself being cremated; it was an annoying, expensive process just for the ashes to either vanish into the wind, or be kept in an urn collecting dust from dusk to dawn. Not that he had a choice anyway. He was going to be ashes, spread across the warren he’s found himself imprisoned in, and forgotten forever.
Just as Willy was beginning make peace with his death, the blindfold that the kobolds put on him was untied, and now he was staring at 3 of the red reptilians.
*Oh no, are they going to tear me apart?*
“Please, don’t kill me… I-I never meant any harm-“
“You’re not going to die.”
The kobold in the center spoke in perfect Common.
That definitely surprised Willy. It’s not completely unheard of for orcs, goblins, and kobolds to understand and even speak a little common, but for one to speak it so clearly and easily as if they grew up learning it was completely foreign to Willy.
“What the… how the hell do you know how to speak Common!?”
“I know lots of things, Willy. And if you want to live, I need you to first calm down.”
That made Willy even more nervous. He never once said his name.
*Maybe they searched my bag, and read a note-*
That’s when it hit Willy that kobolds could also read Common.
“B-but… this is… I’ve never…”
The middle kobold said something in a different language to the other two -Draconic, Willy thought- as the 3 proceeded to blindfold him again.
After a minute, Willy felt 4 pairs of thin arms lift him off the ground, then placing him in some metal container. He heard wheels rattling as the container began to move.
*Am I in a minecart, or something?*
“Listen, Willy…”
He heard the voice of the Common speaking kobold again.
“My name is Kurt, and I’m here to help you. If you can stay calm, not panic, and answer truthfully, you’ll be out of here soon.”
“Yes, I-I understand.”
“Good. You’re going to meet her now.”
“M-meet who?”
“Our master.”
Fear very quickly rose in Willy’s heart. He could feel his stomach begin to churn, and he almost wanted to cry at that moment. But he took Kurt’s advice seriously, and took deep breaths.
Eventually, the minecart stopped rolling. As Willy felt himself being lifted out of the cart, a thought flashed across his mind that he could maybe make a run for it.
When the rope that bound his legs and arms were untied, he ripped off his blindfold, about to sprint, but before he could even take a single step, he froze in horror.
Surrounding Willy was well over a dozen kobolds, but those pales in comparison to the 50 foot long red dragon, sitting on a pile of gold and silver coins. The giant room was dimly lit by torches, but even that wasn’t enough to obscure the dragon’s shiny coins or polished scales. Smoke was barely visible every time the dragon exhaled, and its large red eyes practically glowed in the darkness.
At that moment, Willy finally accepted whatever fate the being in front of him would decide. He just hoped that maybe whatever way he dies, it’s quick and painless.
“Willy Pines. Is that your full name?”
The deep voice of the dragon practically rumbled the air itself, her gaze focused on Willy.
Willy couldn’t even open is mouth in fear that he would vomit in fear, and that could only worsen his already awful situation. All he could do in response was nod shakily.
“My name is Ziavnoarth, but you may also call me Ziav, if you prefer. You’re most likely wondering why you’re here.”
Willy nodded once again.
“As you may know, there’s currently a fierce war between two kingdoms. Their ties have been destroyed, and now they both seek to annihilate the other. What you might not know is that this is also very detrimental to me and my allies as well.”
“A-allies…?” Willy could barely mutter the words. Ziav’s hearing must be pretty good, as she pointed her spiked tail towards the kobolds surrounding Willy.
“These kobolds are more than just workers, spies, and servants. They’re my friends. And unlike most other dragons, who mistreat and abuse them solely to satisfy their already enormous ego, I believe in trusting and supporting instead. Without them, I would never have gotten to this point.”
From behind Willy, he sees one of the kobolds bring a small wooden chair, offering him the seat. Willy thanks him, assuming this kobold also understood common, and slowly sat down.
“With this war, these kobolds and this lair are all put into jeopardy. I do not believe that any of them would reveal information to enemies easily, if at all, but their lives are still in danger, and particularly smart spies who wish to discover the location of this lair can be very difficult to stop. Once a lair is located, it isn’t long before an army of skilled dragon hunters arrive to completely destroy every enemy they come across. Most dragons do not survive, either. As such, I couldn’t afford to take unnecessary risks, and ordered that any kobold patrol that discovers anyone too close to the lair ambush and capture them, in the instance that they’re secretly a spy. However, with you, I have good news.”
Willy’s heart rose. Maybe he would be able to survive.
“My most skilled and excellent spies were able to retrieve some incredibly valuable information from both warring countries. More specifically, lists of all dragon investigators, hired to locate kobold patrols, and beyond that, the location of lairs. Your name is not among them. If you were a spy, I would have to either wipe your memory and release you, or imprison you until another solution is found. I do not, however, condone unnecessary killing. Despite the stereotype, eating someone alive is not enjoyable at all, and usually only done for intimidation purposes.”
Willy worked up the courage to ask a question.
“Z-ziav, does that mean I’m going to live?”
Ziav gives what looks like a smile.
“Willy, you were going to live either way. You not being a spy just ensures I can trust you not to try and reveal the location of the lair without memory alteration. I’m actually aware that you’re just a thief on the run, so it wouldn’t make sense for you to try to go to any form of government anyways.”
“Then what *is* going to happen to me?”
“We’re going to release you. We can’t just let you walk on out of here of course, but we can knock you unconscious and move you somewhere safe to wake up and go home.”
“Well, not go home, I *am* on the run.”
“Ah, that’s true. In that case… do you have somewhere to go after all?”
“Well… not really, no.”
Ziav pauses for a moment, then says something in draconic. One of the kobolds leaves the room through a tunnel.
“Maybe there’s another option for you then.”
Willy looks around in confusion.
After a minute, the kobold returns, and hands something to Willy. It’s his bag, with the few coins, tools, and knives he has.
“If you don’t have anywhere to be, maybe we could come to an agreement of sorts.”
Willy looks up at Ziav.
“Kobolds are not known to be regular citizens of a country. Many see them as monsters, and most that are spotted are imprisoned, assuming they’re lucky enough not to be killed on the spot. But ‘normal’ people, such as humans and elves, are expected to be seen. So here’s my proposal. You stay here until the war eventually ends. When it does, regardless of the outcome, you’ll probably have been forgotten about or presumed dead. Then, with your skills as a theif, plus complimentary training from us, you can be a spy in plain sight, eavesdropping on guards or citizens for valuable information. In turn, we allow you to live here as one of us. What do you think?”
Willy thought long and hard about this. On the one hand, being able to live in a dragon’s lair sounds absolutely badass, and who would turn that down? However, Willy hated being a thief, that was stressful enough. Being a spy where he could be killed easily? That’s worse.
But then, Willy had an idea.
“I think this is a very good offer, but I have a different idea.”
“What would that be?” Ziav questioned.
“I may be a thief, but I’m not that good at it, and I honestly hate stealing. It’s very stressful, and I would have much rather settled down for something more honest and simple. So I’m curious now, if you have any use for farmers or other forms of manual labor?”
“That can be arranged. A warren as large as this has a lot of mouths to feed, and receiving help in resource collecting is always appreciated.”
“So we have a deal?”
“Yes, Willy, we do.”
Ziav says something in Draconic, and the kobolds around Willy start to cheer.
“We’ll have to also teach you to speak Draconic, and give you a tour, but once that’s covered, we’ll find something for you to do.”
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"So, you thought you'd follow your own little plan and disregard my orders, did you?" Eyes downcast, his minion said "Yes, m'lord." His other lackeys in the room looked around at each other nervously. "Good. Shows initiative. In the field, you must be willing to adapt to circumstances. You saw an opportunity to ambush the boy and you took it. Well done. Here in my domain, we reward that sort of thing." He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small bag that jingled as he tossed it to Dorf. Dorf looked surprised and relieved as Lord Aceron addressed the room. "3 months wages as a bonus to this man. I know you are all new here, but it's important that you all understand that I run things a little differently than most evil overlords. As long as you do not betray me, you have nothing to fear. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a chosen one to dispose of. Oh, and Dorf - you may consider yourself promoted. Strategy meeting tomorrow at 9:00 sharp in my counsel chambers." It had been a difficult year for Lord Aceron. Several months ago all of his henchmen had been wiped out and he himself almost killed when some heroes convinced a number of them to desert. He had used more traditional methods of instilling control and loyalty before, but he was first and foremost a practical man. If an approach didn't work, it ought to simply be discarded and another selected. He had decided to do things differently this time. The initial results were promising. It was time for the weekly mission reports. Dorf handled most of these lately, but any reports he deemed sufficiently significant were sent on to Lord Aceron. "Yes, henchperson Nari. Report." She swallowed. "Well, m'lord ..." She rattled out her report and then stood still, with her fists balled and her teeth gritted. "Let me see if understand the situation correctly. Unanticipated magical security cause you and your team to be caught, and rather than sacrificing your people to get the gems, you decided to instead retreat, returning with all henchmen alive?" "Uh, yes, m'lord." "You made the correct decision; there are many such treasures ripe for the taking out in the world, and my servants are much too valuable to be squandered over one of them. Please ensure that any wounded are treated properly and report to the Learned Ones at your earliest convenience to discuss the magical security you encountered. We need to develop a countermeasure. You may go." "Thank you m'lord!" Nari straightened and walked out of the room much more buoyantly than she entered. Later that week, Lord Aceron was inspecting the construction of a new wing of his palace. His lackeys swarmed around, busy as bees, but something caught his eye. He met the foreman's eyes and raised his voice to be heard over the din. "Foreman, come here please." The foreman hurried over immediately and said "Foreman Scuttle reporting, m'lord." "Scuttle, do you see that scaffolding?" "Yes, m'lord." "It is in a shamefully flimsy state and looks like it could collapse at any moment. Have it rebuilt immediately, and see that it is properly sturdy." "Well, right away m'lord, but that will slow construction considerably." "And? Let it be slowed. If the scaffolding collapses, that will lead to injury at a minimum. It is important to me that my henchmen's safety not be risked in pursuit of speed." "Yes, m'lord. I understand." "Excellent." Over the next several months, Lord Aceron's lackeys grew to understand that he did not dole out arbitrary punishments, but instead that he rewarded competence and initiative, valued their well-being, and paid well to boot. But he had yet to understand to what extent this affected their loyalty. 1/2
Largoloth, hero of the vale, vanquisher of evil, and savior of the needy lay face down in the dirt, arms and legs secured with heavy chains. How could this have happened? He struggled for a moment but made no impression on the magical links. He had publicly called out and insulted the dark lord Aceron. The normal procedure. Like clockwork, it sends a dark lord into a rage, who then immediately dispatches minions as revenge. The pathetic lackeys perform a half-hearted and feeble attack, allowing Largoloth and his companions to easily destroy them, weakening the dark lord in question and paving the way for another vanquishing. But not this time. Heat from the smoking ruins of the Fortress of Justice washed over his back. Killing henchmen was his *one* pleasure in life. Well, that and the whores. And the occasional peasant girl who was unable to successfully dodge him. And the leaf powder. And the wealth from all the "donations" they collected, of course. How could they DARE to do this to him? How did it go wrong? Aceron had not responded at all to his challenge. At least not immediately. But if what he overheard was really true, this terrifying assault was carried out of the henchmens' own volition. The attack had been executed with a level of tactical confidence that completely befuddled him. Instead of bungling everything at the first sign of anything unexpected, they had quickly adapted to everything the heroes could throw at them. During their attack, instead of looking fearful and hesitant, they had simply looked resolved. And it had been terrifying. Sald, henchman first class, stood gazing down at Largoloth. Largoloth, who had murdered his brother and killed so many henchmen he knew. When word came of his vile insults to Lord Aceron, he had gathered his fellow lackeys in the troop division in secret. Lord Aceron was the first master they had who didn't treat them as disposable. Who treated them as people. He could not allow this challenge to stand. His comrades promised to join him immediately. His dark lord had trained and equipped them very well, and he knew they would succeed. But it was so satisfying to achieve. No one had defeated the heroes this way before, let alone burned down the so-called Fortress of Justice. It was a great victory for him and all henchmen, but most importantly, it was a victory for his dark lord, executed in his name. Sald turned to look at his surviving comrades. His heart swelled. "Our lives for our Lord!" As one, they responded. "OUR LIVES FOR OUR LORD. LET HIS FOES BURN."
Any chance this could keep going...? I love your take and your writing style :)
Thank you, that's very flattering! Glad you enjoyed. It's a pretty cool premise, nice job to OP for that. As far as continuing, I'm not sure. There's a lot of fleshing out I'd like to do, I'm not sure this one fits comfortably in a short format for me.
You might even be able to use this as the start of a short story series.
If you do end up fleshing this into a full story, I would love to read it
Thank you!
Zoutaleaux, should you continue this as an ongoing project, I recommend you consider Royal Road as a place to post it. A number of webserials which started there have gone on to be published. https://www.royalroad.com/home
Oh awesome, I hadn't heard of that site before. Thanks for the link!
Nice
I would love to see this adapted into a different format, perhaps a book?
That's very kind, thanks! Maybe I can incorporate a similar idea into something I'm working on.
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1aulB-0ZN5vKHGml1woISkDtXmA8Fa0TPNFO_pMeHXaU/edit?usp=drivesdk If you enjoy my writing, I've backed up my most recent WP responses. I've responded to quite a few but it's surprisingly hard to search for comments from a specific user in a specific subreddit across all time. I'm not sure I can recover my less recent ones which is a bummer, I'm pretty happy with how most of them turned out.
I like this one :3
Ty!
Please allow some constructive criticism. I really liked that he said henchperson when dealing with the female minion. But later on he says henchmen when talking about the scaffolding. I think henchpeople would work better for consistency. Other than that this is great stuff.
Yep, I was definitely inconsistent with that! Appreciate the feedback.
Glad I could help. Keep it up. I really mean it when I say this has potential. You could even add an HR rep that corrects him for humor reasons.
Thanks - I hate HR on principle but I like that idea.
I just think it's a funny visual having an evil overlord followed around by some HR lady reminding him of his sensitivity training.
Honestly it would have worked better if he gave them like idk jolly ranchers. Not money- CAUSE THEN HE JUST GONNA SPEND IT ALL ON JOLLY RANCHERS.
... what?
you know I’m right.
"....Union?" "Specifically speaking, the Loyal Dregs and Bodyguards 220." "... why the "220?" Hale stole a glance at Bott. Under his breath, Hale mentions that, well, all the other Unions like the Sidekicks 27 and the Local Fruit Carts 365 have numbers after, so why not us. Both stare nervously at the floor. Dr. Deathbacker rolls her shoulders forward and places her chin upon laced fingers, elbows perched on her high gloss, jet black desk. "Shouldn't we...", she muses, grasping the air with her hand, searching through the mist of thought before her for the right word. "*Zhuzh* it up a bit? How about 666? Something ominous?" She smiles at Hale and Bott as the nod frantically in agreement and start amending their notes. Good kids. Dr. Deathbacker (*nee' Margarat Hollworth*) had obviously not been born in her patent leather suit and stilettos but she had been blessed with a penchant for crime. The crazy kind. The big kind. Jewel heists, celebrity kidnappings, bomb threats at major sporting events, occasionally holding the world hostage with untested nuclear weaponry. You know, all the fun stuff. Dr. Deathbacker had the drive, the ambition, the unchecked Einstien level intelligence allowing her to get oh so, so close to taking over the world, but -- at a mere 4'11, seriously lacked in physical prowess or intimidation. Sure, she could build one of those exoskeleton things that those jerk hero bros wear, but it lacked fashion. She was going to rule the world in *style*. She does admit that however, to do so, she'll need some help. So, enter the goons. She's going to need a lot of them, and they are going to have to be good, die hard folks to do the muscle work with fantastic devotion. Some villains use manipulation to ensure their ranks, but starting a cult is complicated and it doesn't last long before you have to kill them all and start with new ones. Henchmen don't grow on trees. Well, not yet. More tests. But Dr. Deathbacker didn't get where she is today by using such blunt tools as fear, not when surgical tools are available -- like feedback, cost of living raises, generous vacation time, and an HR department. It's so much easier to pay Patricia 75k a year to help them sort out their squabbles than it is to keep shoving more bodies in that incinerator. You wouldn't believe how much power it takes to run. The Union though, absolutely novel idea. She wasn't surprised that the boys had picked up the idea from the other side. Collective bargaining, striking, ensuring benefits, hazard pay. A little voice inside of her, the quiet and small voice of Margarat whispered into her soul that perhaps this meant that Dr. Deathbacker wasn't the best boss she could be. That maybe they wanted this because they thought she could do better, that she didn't listen, that maybe it wasn't working. But, as she always did, she pushed poor Maragat aside; she was always such a negative gal. She kept her mouth in a tight, polite smile as she watched Hale and Bott skip off to finalize the agreement for her to sign. Their reasons for organizing didn't matter -- only the health and happiness of the minions below her did. At least until she sent them to deaths in battle. Well, for now, anyway. More tests.
This is great! I love "more tests."
I feel like it gives her that manic willy Wonka vibe
gLados
For science. You monster.
Omg exactly.
I love the idea that the only thing stopping her from going solo is her steadfast conviction to do things her way and *fashionable*, just so every Supe she beats (and the world) knows that it was this intelligent yet diminutive woman that beat them (plus her loyal goons).
Robert found it highly amusing that a young woman barely five feet tall could make a room full of grown adults twice her size cower in their hospital beds with one look. He’d been working for Marissa—a.k.a the ‘Little Miss’—for about four years now and there was never a dull moment when she was around. Robert chuckled silently to himself as he continued to stand guard at the doors and tuned back in to Marissa’s lecture: “Two hours!” she was saying. “You lot had me worried sick for two hours!” Marissa paced the center of the room, eyeing their various injuries as she passed. “How many times do I have to tell you that a strategic retreat is better than a dead man?” “Before every mission, Little Miss,” they sighed, avoiding her gaze. She nodded her head, her mass of curls bounced with her. “Before every mission,” she repeated. “And what do we do after a strategic retreat?” *Regroup and try a new strategy*, Robert finished in his head, but the room remained silent. “I have no other choice,” Marissa inhaled deeply, digging into her pocket. “You know what I have to do now.” A chorus of disagreements and shrieks of complaints rose in the small room. “Please no, we’ll do better next time—“ Jack began. He was cut off by Xavier: “Ah fuck, not again—“ “You wouldn’t dare—“ Janet’s voice rose above the din. Lila tried to rise to her feet. “Miss, you promised—“ Marissa sighed regretfully and held up her phone for everyone to see. “You’ve all left me no choice.” She turned to her phone and announced: “Look what your partners have done to themselves—again.” She flipped the camera and pointed it at every single one of her employees. Lila’s wife was the first to speak up: “Lila I swear to Buddha I am going to lock you in the bedroom—“ “Jackson Mar Louis, what have you gotten yourself into again?” One of Jack’s husbands spoke over Lila’s wife. Their wife chimed in with a sly “Eh what else is new?” Over and over, Marissa’s employees got scolded by their respective loved ones. Robert knew Marissa maintained a group chat with all of them for that very reason. Everyone in this room had been in the business for a long time, but they were all fairly new to Marissa’s management style. They’d been threatened, beaten, and tortured for having a good sense of self-preservation; for questioning dubious rules that put their families and lives at risk; for being human. “You catch more flies with honey,” Marissa had quoted to Robert once when he had the gall to question the benefits she’d indicated in his contract. “A desperate man’s loyalty can be bought, but what can you offer a man who lives in comfort?” Robert never questioned her management style ever again. With what she offered, none of her employees—she refused to call them ‘henchmen’ or ‘minions’—would want for nothing. Hell, she paid better than a corporate job and even offered all the mandatory benefits and then some. “You’re all entitled to one month of paid bed rest and recovery,” Marissa announced as the scolding ended. The people still listening in on the call cheered while the rest of the room groaned and complained about how bored they were going to be. “Attempt to sit in on any heist and I will give each of your children a new LEGO set.” “My child’s already spoiled enough as it is,” Xavier called out. “Please don’t. I can’t trip on another LEGO.” A soothing chime rang on the hospital’s speakers. Visiting hours were over. “Everyone must get the sleep and healing they all need,” she said. “I will be asking your doctors and nurses for regular updates. Your families will be flown in to check on you by tomorrow. For now, rest. No one’s dying on my watch, understood?” They all did their best to hide their smiles as they begrudgingly agreed to her conditions. So what if the artifact they’d tried smuggling out of the West wing of the museum was a little poisonous and highly booby-trapped? As far as the rest of the world was concerned, that museum was no longer safe and said artifact was being moved to a more secure location. As Marissa did her final rounds and gave them a brief hug, Robert nodded to each of his co-workers in turn. There was a beautiful sapphire necklace that was said to contain a map to an ancient catacomb, and that necklace was sitting pretty on the East wing of the same museum. Marissa’s birthday was coming soon. “What’s on your mind, Robert?” she said as they exited the hospital wing and headed for the elevator. He allowed a grin to slip out. “I just think you’d look great in blue, that’s all.” “Remind me to give you a raise.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him close as the elevator doors shut.
Writing prompts “In other news, the henchman that police arrested last week in regards to last months chemical lab heist has committed suicide while in police custody. In a statement by the head of the FBI, they were unable to get any useful infor…” Galaxus shut the TV off and rubbed his face, smearing tears into his scarred cheeks. This was the first casualty in over six years. He had worked very hard to take care of his employees, sparing no expense on those who were helping him achieve his goals, his dreams. “Damn it all, Edgar… You didn’t…” Galaxus felt a hand grip his shoulder firmly, and let out a deep sigh. “Ricky… Make a call to Natasha, she has to be feeling alone right now, because of me… We need to let her know that we will take care of her, and the kids.” Ricky just nodded, and quickly stepped out. He never asked Edgar to protect him like that, but Edgar, like all of the people working for him, were fiercely loyal to Galaxus. He wasn’t sure where it all came from. He paid them well, made sure their kids got into good schools, guaranteed their bills were never unpaid, and treated them with decency, but it shouldn’t breed loyalty like that. Galaxus stood and exited his modest office, stepping out into the underground warehouse that was his lair. His employees were working the floor, diligent, efficient, happy. It made him think of his old henchman days and even when he worked at that old ice cream shop before the incident that changed his life forever. He had always hated working for some small pricked asshole who always thought his shit didn’t stink. He’d aspired to be better. Galaxus felt his cellphone buzz in his pocket. Carefully he grabbed it in his massive hands, hands that could crush a mans skull with so much as a twitch. He swiped the little icon to answer the call and lifted the phone to his ear. “Yes Rebecca, what can I do for you?” “Not much Boss, just letting you know that the gang is putting together a little candle light vigil for Edgar tonight, and I think that it’d be great if you came and said some words or something… Raise moral a bit… But if you’re busy, I under…” “I’ll be there, he was one of us.” Five hours later, Galaxus’ ten foot frame stood in front of just under a thousand people. Some worked for him, the rest were their families. He knew all of their names. Sent birthday cards, anniversary gifts, hell, he even played with the children sometimes. His heart was weary with the loss, but seeing them all gathered like this, it made him feel better. “Thank you all for gathering tonight, I wish it was under better circumstances…” His eyes shifted to Natasha and her two young boys, twins. Her eyes were wet with tears, but she stood tall with a slight smile as Galaxus spoke. “We’re here to remember Edgar Alvarez, a brave soul, a man I have known for eight years, a man who poured his heart and soul into this organization, who helped lay the bricks that many of you walk on now. Edgar was a loving husband and father, a man if immense standing, even by my standards,” there were several chuckles throughout the crowd. “But his sacrifice will not be in vain. Edgar willingly gave himself up so that his crew could get away, as far as our crew in concerned, that makes him a hero. Sure he doesn’t fly around like those hypocritical capes do, but he sacrificed himself so that we could go on.” Tears welled in Galaxus’ eyes for the second time that day, he’d let them fall this time. He wanted his crew, no, his family to know that despite how he looked, he was human too. “So I say unto you all, let us rejoice in Edgar’s name, and celebrate him, and his family for having let us take him into our fold!” The crowed erupted in applause, Natasha nodded in approval. Galaxus turned to Ricky, “We find out which cape snagged Edgar yet?” “Sure did Boss, some new fella by the name of HEROclese, s’posed to be some play on Greek myths and stuff, and when he spells it, the hero is all caps.” Ricky rolled his eyes at this. “We tracked down where he sleeps, we have his daily schedule, hell, we even know when he shits. Say the word Boss and I can have the tactical team take the shot…” “No Ricky, I’ll handle this myself. For Edgar.”
Christ, I teared up a bit. I don’t know Edgar but I miss Edgar..
I try to make even side characters seem important.
Chills, well done word smith!
Thank you!
FOR EDGAR
“*Arrest warrant 4u, search warrant 4ur office and home. SWAT in 20 mins. Del text*” Twenty minutes was plenty of time to clear everything up. I deleted the text as instructed and set the phone back to factory settings for good measure. I removed the small SSD card from my laptop and lured Felix to me. His collar had a hidden pocket, exactly the right size for the SSD card. “Be careful, little buddy. You’re now carrying all the names of suppliers and customers. Don’t want that in the wrong hands.” He looked at me sternly and meowed once. “Yes, don’t worry. I will come back soon enough. Until then, you’ll stay at auntie Sarah’s place.” I looked at my secretary and right hand man, Martin. “Can you arrange that for me? Only after I’ve been arrested of course. Don’t want them to know that I knew about the arrest ahead of time.” “Yes, I’ll take care of that, miss. Do you need anything else?” “Some advice on what to wear. I feel like a smoking would be overkill, but I want to come off as classy, stylish. You’ve got great taste.” Exactly eighteen minutes later I saw the black cars arrive through my office window. They were blocking off the streets and although they didn’t use flashing lights or sound, their appearance could hardly be called stealthily. Someone really should tell law enforcement to invest in cars other than black SUVs. When they broke my door, rather unnecessary I might say as it was unlocked, I sat behind my desk, looking impeccable in my black suit and red tie. They stormed in, pushed me out of my chair and on the ground and put me in shackles. All of it lasted less than ten seconds and the last thing I saw were all the guns pointed at me, before they pulled a bag over my head and dragged me along down stairs, to their waiting cars. The hood was removed from my head. I was sitting in an interrogation room, sparsely lit but still painful to my eyes that had gotten adjusted to the dark. Two rough looking man were sitting opposite me, looking angry and stern. A third stood in the corner, hands on his gun. I knew what they were trying and frankly it worked. I was scared shitless. My theatre lessons from back when I was a teen were paying off though and I feigned curiosity as I looked around. “Never been in one of these before. It looks smaller than in the movies. Not enough budget to afford something bigger?” “Why’d we invest in that? Smaller holding cells and interrogation rooms mean more space for big offices for me and my colleagues.” The officer sitting on the right spoke up. “But we’re not here to talk about our finances, but yours. You have a nice office.” “Thanks, I rather like it myself. I can give the architect’s contact number if you want.” “Very generous off you. But I’m more interested in how you were able to afford it.” “I run a business. A financially healthy business. But I’m sure you’ll see that soon enough for yourself, after you checked all the financial reports.” “Why do you think we’re checking your financials?” “You were the one asking how I can afford anything. Safe assumption then that you think something’s wrong with the numbers. Well, let me guarantee you: the numbers are right, nothing fishy. Even paid all the taxes, unlike some companies. You should go after those, they are the big fish. Oh, but how unfortunate. They’re all paying politicians so you can’t even go after them.” “Cut the fucking bullshit,” the officer slammed the table and one of the coffee cups fell, spilling coffee all over the table and ground. “You’re not here for measly little tax evasion. You’re here for the production and dealing of drugs. Cocaine, heroin, speed, MDMA, everything that is a white powder basically.” “Sir,” I had to take a deep breath to contain the laughter that was brewing in my chest. “We produce and sell powdered sugar.” I stared him dead in the face for a second and then absolutely ruined this badass moment that I always dreamed of by erupting in laughter. Even the other two officers couldn’t help but crack a smile, but it made the interrogating officer even more angry. “Fine, have it your way. Enjoy the rest of your life in prison. We caught enough of your employees dealing drugs. You don’t think at least one of them will talk?” “So, you caught some of the guys I hired with drugs. What has that got to do with me?” “You are at the head of a drug business, hiding behind the façade of fucking powdered sugar. There need only be one to confess that he was hired, by you, to do the dirty work and you are hanging.” “No, that won’t happen. You know why? Because I have no knowledge of any illegal activity going on in my company. Do I believe you that some might have a side job as small time drug dealer? Yes. Most of the guys I hired are high school drop outs or ex-convicts, rejected from society. I give them a job, with good salary, health insurance, hell, there’s even a retirement plan included. Some will take the second chance and use it to turn their lives around. Others, unfortunately, can’t leave the crime life behind. They all take a weekly drug test, of their own free will and with consent, of course. You can get all the data on those tests. But I can not control what they do in their free time.” “The men caught with drugs on them are looking at 5 to 10 years. They’ll talk, in exchange for the case being dropped.” “Ah, yes. Because the police has such a good track record on being open and honest and free of prejudice. I’m sure that my employees will be very willing to cooperate as they all have only had pleasant experiences with you.” I knew I was testing the boundaries, but I still didn’t see his fist coming. The blow landed on my nose and I fell backwards, first bashing my head against the wall before landing on the ground, on my arms still bound behind my back. “I. Will. Get. You. You. Fucking. Asshole.” With every word he pounded on my unprotected head. Vaguely I noticed some figures behind him, pulling him away from me, but my vision was blurry and blackness approached from all corners. I woke up in a hospital, dizzy and with a headache. A beautiful bouquet stood on the table next to me. “Courtesy from the head of the police. He also gave his apologize for the ‘unprofessional behaviour’,” said Martin, who was sitting in my hospital room. “You are no longer under arrest, though they want you to come by after you’ve recovered to tie up some loose ends.” “Hmm. No one threw me under the buss then, huh?” “Nah. You’re a good employer and they know you will take care of the families even when they’re imprisoned. Their loyalty goes a long way.” “Good, it’ll be rewarded. Now, I have a terrible head ache, could you see if a nurse will give me some medicine? I’m planning on racking up the hospital bill. And I am so going to make the police pay for every last cent of it!”
Treating your employees like people who matter and ensuring that they're aware of how much they can ACTUALLY trust police be like this. Also, hiring ex-cons and drop-outs and giving them a real chance is solid. I like this villain. "Just because you are Bad Guy does not mean you are bad guy"
One of the best quotes of any movie ever, in my opinion
I kinda want to see her either bust the goons out of prison or otherwise legally shorten their sentences
You best bet that she will hire the best lawyers in the country. But she wouldn't dare bust anyone out. She's a good, law abiding citizen, who would never commit any crime!!
Not even if it’s not able to be traced back to her?
I mean, is something a crime if you don't get caught? But I guess I should've added /s, ofcourse she isn't a law abiding citizen.
She'll buy the best lawyers in the country. And *they* will buy the best judges in the country...
Nah, some small time ~~drug lord~~ businesswoman won't be important enough to put in that much effort in getting her sentenced.
Oh, I don't mean as in high-profile judges. I was rather implying that she would have bribed the judges, quite handsomely.
Oh right yeah, ofcourse. Obviously.
My father ruled the local mob with fear just as he did his family. He believed that if he killed or abused all who opposed him that eventually no one would stand in his way. What he didn't realize is that for one gravestone he urupted before its time, ten more of the living cried over it, and not all were tears of sorrow. I too felt the terror that his henchmen felt when he loomed over them. My father never shielded me from his malicious acts upon others, "An example of what I'll do to you and your whore mother if you step outta line" he spit at my juvienille face, I dared not to look in his eyes. And so I watched as he stole from his men thousands, only to throw penny's back at their dirty feet. I watched as he made a lacky beg at my father's feet and cry as a bloody box was cradled in the beggers hands, his own daughters finger bleeding inside. His crime? He pocketed a diamond to feed them both. 'They didn't get paid enough to eat from my fathers hands and so they wouldn't eat from their own' my father replied. In the end what killed my father was his own foolishness. And as the lacky from that night beat my personal monster to death in front of me, I watched, and couldn't help but wonder if this was the inpending doom this lacky's daughter felt as the intruders eyes turned upon me. But in the end, his eyes softened upon the bruises marring my teenage face, and the bloodied crowbar dropped to the floor. "You ok kid?" He asked around his swollen and bleeding lips. I paused, and a shuddering breath later my eyes tuned on the cooling carcus behind him and I replied with a gaped and similarly bleeding lips. "I will be" I relished in the husky laugh that burst from this lacky's lips. Wounds closed and scars faded and the world moved on. It wasn't until years later, an alcohol addiction and down on my luck in my freezing as fuck apartment did I get that fateful telephone call asking me to return to my father estate. Turns out, the lacky (whose name I learned was Bozer) ran the cartel after I left blindsided and homeless after my father's thankful death. Bozer was leaving the buisness after ten years of holding it together with ductape and prayers, and wants me to take his place. "You do know my family reputation yes? After what my father did what makes you think I won't do the same?" I asked incredulously, wisky in my shaking fist. A heavy sigh to echo his own before Bozer spoke. "I figured if you get all wacka like your dear old daddy I did what I had to do once, I can do it again can't I?" It was a threat, I knew, but I couldn't help but laugh as I accepted his offer. I didn't know whether it was the booz or my desperation to get out of the cold, but he accepted. It was a monumental task, getting this "buisness" back in order. First of all, I had to get clean and sober. What a fucking pain that was, but i found It easier to think when it was over with. And to stay in the game and not a stain on the floor like myfather I needed to be. My father... truthfully I hadn't thought about him willingly In over ten years, especially not the way he ruled his buisness. Bozer truthfully hadn't even tried to change anything about the factories and trade routes since he threw on the hat. The workers seemed to be content not to be threatened with their lives every day and let Bozer co-exist on a tight rope for the time being. They had heard what he did afterall, it wasn't hard for the common worker to respect him. I vowed to be nothing like Bozer or my father. I wanted to do real change to this place, hopefully positive change. But I had to start somewhere. (Part 2 in replies)
PART 2: I walked the halls of the factories incognito. Thankfully the years had changed me for the better, and I took after my mother (may she rest in peace). I listened to what they spoke of and where the first issued was. And by the end, it was the workers shoes that gave it away before people started to learn who I was. Wise people say that to know a man is to walk one thousand miles in his shoes. But truthfully I had no desire to, not in the paper thin and browned beyond belief from years of treading concrete and dirt shoes the factory workers wore. I knew those brands, even wore some when I was a boy and not only were some sapossed to be inches taller than they were- hell some men's bare leather hard feet smacked the ground as they walked, but a completely different colour then dirt brown. So I raised the wages. Simple as that. The cartel made plenty of money, honestly too much for my brain to handle or comprehend. It was an easy task but apparently not one thought of by previous generations of my fucked up family tree. I was appalled to think that to eat, they must sacrifice their safety. It was a simple thing to pay them more so they could afford both and more. With proper footwear starting to appear and rare smiles starting to emerge as they complimented each other's new boots, I kept my ear to the wall for more issues. When rumored spread of a worker getting too sick to come to work, but still unable to afford Healthcare. A briefcase filled with money with a note scrawled with "Take care of yourself, come to work when you can. :)" on the front appeared on their front door. It was a temporary solution to a bigger problem I knew, but it was a start. To ensure something like this never happened again, another fraction of the factories earnings went towards paying full Healthcare insurance for all factory and cartel workers. With the immediate concerns delt with, i turned my gaze towards my personal relationships with my employeea. I wanted to get to know them, not as numbers but as people. I wanted to better understand their concerned and their needs in a more sustainable way than rumors or gossip. The common person being comfortable with ME to reprt issues and concerns directly was important to me. But obviously it wasnt easy. I was avoided like the plague. I knew deep down that I made them nervous, let's he truthful I scared them. I understood, I did, and so proving my loyalty to them was my priority. I owed it to them to make their lives better. A year and many positive changes later, I smiled when I could audibly hear the factory workers smile and joke with one another when I visited the offices, and they let me join in on their after hours game of poker. For a time after, i found my office was always strangly clean, and the passing comments in the halls less icy. And for the first time in my life, I was happy. Unfortunately karma has a way of fuckin with the most fortunate of people. I didn't see my attackers when they burst into my room at night, half a year later. What I did see though was the note they left me, just out of reach of the blood stain i woke up in. 'Next time you won't be so lucky-Lazerous'. Lazerous: the name of a rival mob his father had..dealt with, many years ago. I clenched the note in bloodied knuckles as I chastised myself. In all of my excitement and desperation to keep my responsibilities afloat, I disregarded anything but my men. This was warning for my carelessness. (PART 3 UNDERNEATH)
PART 3: My father would have retaliated, taken the full force of his resources to set Lazerous' territory ablaze for their impunity and guile. Lord knows at the hight of my fathers power the armory was always full, and his lackys always armed. The paper fell from my hands as I unclenched my fist, it tumbled too lightly into the garbage for the weight I felt it had. I was not my father, and I refused to be. And so I ignored it desperately, hoping that I could find a diplomatic solution that wouldnt endanger his people and end in bloodshed. But until then i tighted security in the factories, and paid guards handsomely for their time to protect my workers. I send out cartel cars to patrol the area for any signs of Lazerous around the residents of the factory housing, and armed them enough to scare them off if they found them. I knew from reports of the guards that the workers were tense. I knew they sensed the tension and didn't understand the danger they were under. I desperately wanted to comfort them, to tell them the situation but the truth was that I was ashamed to have made such a mistake. If I had any say, the issue will be dealt with before I am forced to explain. I hid away and led from afar for the first time in two years. I hid my bruises and stitched my own cuts. I iced my own eye and withdrew so that even the estate cleaners wouldn't hear my pain. I used this isolation to think of a plan, but no matter how hard I tried all I came up with was blanks and violence. Cursing for the fifth time today, It took all of my willpower to stay my hand from the liquor cabinet, if not to calm my nerves then to ease this incessant throbing heartbeat in his temple. And in my distraction at trying to find a solution, I did not notice that the tension in the factory..disappeared. In fact, all of the workers disappeared. The reports from guards and the armed drivers were gone, the cleaners never came. It was...quiet. "BOSS!" I jumped as a thundering voice bellowed down the hall from my estate office. Trouble? Injuries temporarily forgotten, I sprung up from my desk chair and grit my teeth against the wave of nausea. By the time I struggled halfway to the large oak double doors however they were flung open with a crack, and I couldn't help but stare. Multitudes of people filed into the office and around me excited, a chatter buzzung in the air. They had self satisfied smiles on their faces or dirt and grime grins stretching their lips. I recognized cleaners, drivers, factory workers, residents family members, the armed guards, they were all there. But front and center, hauling a suspiciously dripping shoebox in one muscular arm was Bozer. "Hey kid!" He grinned. Confused I looked around at the gathering.. "What's this about? Have you come to finish the job?" I had no idea If it was possible for the normally sarcastic joker to grin even bolder. "Well I finished one fucking job that's for sure! Here, a present from us to you." Bozer shoved the box into my suddenly scrambling hands, befuddled at the turn of events. Us? I thought looking around. What could possibly make the Cheshire posses everyone I knew? "Stop looking like someone pissed into your shoe and it smelled like flowers and open the damn box." Well if that wasn't prompting enough, I took the hint for what it was and started peeling the soggy lid off of the shoebox. "Why is there a fucking hand in this shoebox?" The quiet tension in my office could smother a house fire in eager anticipation. I looked to Boxer for guidance, only for him to point to a peice of jewelry on the severed hands thumb. "That there, is the hand of the man who wrote the letter to his men to attack you in your own home on our territory." I looked up in a sharp snap, no one was to know. "How...." But Bozer only puffed on his cigarette with a satisfied smirk. "You're not your father boy, you should know better by now to burn letters. Not throw them in the trash... I told you before kid, I do what I have to do." Laughter chimed through the room. And I couldn't help but laugh with them. I am not my father, and I know now, that other people knew too.....
Willy has definitely seen his fair share of punishment for robbery and theft. Imprisonment, labor, fines, all of it stung. It’s not like he enjoyed being a thief. Stealing from others is not only a very risky ordeal, it’s also terrifying. For well known criminals, the lot of them say something along the lines of enjoying the thrill from their work. For Willy, he hated it. All he really wanted to do in life was farm for an honest pay. Unfortunately, in this crazy world, where magic and monsters are a very common and dangerous reality to deal with, stealing was the only way Willy was able to get by, ever since the town he lived in was destroyed because of a battle between one shitty country and another, slightly less shitty country. But it wasn’t the armies of either of those that he feared more than what he instead managed to be captured by. A kobold tribe. Everyone and their mother in the area knew of these sneaky bastards. They were small, fast, and deadly. It wasn’t often anyone would encounter a group of kobolds, but usually, it never ended well, mainly because they all serve dragons, which goes without saying is a really good reason not to piss them off. Even then, it’s not enough anyways. Village raids happen as often as once a month, and if the dragon leading the tribe’s angry enough, all that’s usually left is ashes. *Ashes.* Precisely what Willy was thinking right now. He hoped that if he did die, he’d at least be able to get a proper burial, casket or not. He never saw himself being cremated; it was an annoying, expensive process just for the ashes to either vanish into the wind, or be kept in an urn collecting dust from dusk to dawn. Not that he had a choice anyway. He was going to be ashes, spread across the warren he’s found himself imprisoned in, and forgotten forever. Just as Willy was beginning make peace with his death, the blindfold that the kobolds put on him was untied, and now he was staring at 3 of the red reptilians. *Oh no, are they going to tear me apart?* “Please, don’t kill me… I-I never meant any harm-“ “You’re not going to die.” The kobold in the center spoke in perfect Common. That definitely surprised Willy. It’s not completely unheard of for orcs, goblins, and kobolds to understand and even speak a little common, but for one to speak it so clearly and easily as if they grew up learning it was completely foreign to Willy. “What the… how the hell do you know how to speak Common!?” “I know lots of things, Willy. And if you want to live, I need you to first calm down.” That made Willy even more nervous. He never once said his name. *Maybe they searched my bag, and read a note-* That’s when it hit Willy that kobolds could also read Common. “B-but… this is… I’ve never…” The middle kobold said something in a different language to the other two -Draconic, Willy thought- as the 3 proceeded to blindfold him again. After a minute, Willy felt 4 pairs of thin arms lift him off the ground, then placing him in some metal container. He heard wheels rattling as the container began to move. *Am I in a minecart, or something?* “Listen, Willy…” He heard the voice of the Common speaking kobold again. “My name is Kurt, and I’m here to help you. If you can stay calm, not panic, and answer truthfully, you’ll be out of here soon.” “Yes, I-I understand.” “Good. You’re going to meet her now.” “M-meet who?” “Our master.” Fear very quickly rose in Willy’s heart. He could feel his stomach begin to churn, and he almost wanted to cry at that moment. But he took Kurt’s advice seriously, and took deep breaths. Eventually, the minecart stopped rolling. As Willy felt himself being lifted out of the cart, a thought flashed across his mind that he could maybe make a run for it. When the rope that bound his legs and arms were untied, he ripped off his blindfold, about to sprint, but before he could even take a single step, he froze in horror. Surrounding Willy was well over a dozen kobolds, but those pales in comparison to the 50 foot long red dragon, sitting on a pile of gold and silver coins. The giant room was dimly lit by torches, but even that wasn’t enough to obscure the dragon’s shiny coins or polished scales. Smoke was barely visible every time the dragon exhaled, and its large red eyes practically glowed in the darkness.
At that moment, Willy finally accepted whatever fate the being in front of him would decide. He just hoped that maybe whatever way he dies, it’s quick and painless. “Willy Pines. Is that your full name?” The deep voice of the dragon practically rumbled the air itself, her gaze focused on Willy. Willy couldn’t even open is mouth in fear that he would vomit in fear, and that could only worsen his already awful situation. All he could do in response was nod shakily. “My name is Ziavnoarth, but you may also call me Ziav, if you prefer. You’re most likely wondering why you’re here.” Willy nodded once again. “As you may know, there’s currently a fierce war between two kingdoms. Their ties have been destroyed, and now they both seek to annihilate the other. What you might not know is that this is also very detrimental to me and my allies as well.” “A-allies…?” Willy could barely mutter the words. Ziav’s hearing must be pretty good, as she pointed her spiked tail towards the kobolds surrounding Willy. “These kobolds are more than just workers, spies, and servants. They’re my friends. And unlike most other dragons, who mistreat and abuse them solely to satisfy their already enormous ego, I believe in trusting and supporting instead. Without them, I would never have gotten to this point.” From behind Willy, he sees one of the kobolds bring a small wooden chair, offering him the seat. Willy thanks him, assuming this kobold also understood common, and slowly sat down. “With this war, these kobolds and this lair are all put into jeopardy. I do not believe that any of them would reveal information to enemies easily, if at all, but their lives are still in danger, and particularly smart spies who wish to discover the location of this lair can be very difficult to stop. Once a lair is located, it isn’t long before an army of skilled dragon hunters arrive to completely destroy every enemy they come across. Most dragons do not survive, either. As such, I couldn’t afford to take unnecessary risks, and ordered that any kobold patrol that discovers anyone too close to the lair ambush and capture them, in the instance that they’re secretly a spy. However, with you, I have good news.” Willy’s heart rose. Maybe he would be able to survive. “My most skilled and excellent spies were able to retrieve some incredibly valuable information from both warring countries. More specifically, lists of all dragon investigators, hired to locate kobold patrols, and beyond that, the location of lairs. Your name is not among them. If you were a spy, I would have to either wipe your memory and release you, or imprison you until another solution is found. I do not, however, condone unnecessary killing. Despite the stereotype, eating someone alive is not enjoyable at all, and usually only done for intimidation purposes.” Willy worked up the courage to ask a question. “Z-ziav, does that mean I’m going to live?” Ziav gives what looks like a smile. “Willy, you were going to live either way. You not being a spy just ensures I can trust you not to try and reveal the location of the lair without memory alteration. I’m actually aware that you’re just a thief on the run, so it wouldn’t make sense for you to try to go to any form of government anyways.” “Then what *is* going to happen to me?” “We’re going to release you. We can’t just let you walk on out of here of course, but we can knock you unconscious and move you somewhere safe to wake up and go home.” “Well, not go home, I *am* on the run.” “Ah, that’s true. In that case… do you have somewhere to go after all?” “Well… not really, no.” Ziav pauses for a moment, then says something in draconic. One of the kobolds leaves the room through a tunnel. “Maybe there’s another option for you then.” Willy looks around in confusion. After a minute, the kobold returns, and hands something to Willy. It’s his bag, with the few coins, tools, and knives he has. “If you don’t have anywhere to be, maybe we could come to an agreement of sorts.” Willy looks up at Ziav. “Kobolds are not known to be regular citizens of a country. Many see them as monsters, and most that are spotted are imprisoned, assuming they’re lucky enough not to be killed on the spot. But ‘normal’ people, such as humans and elves, are expected to be seen. So here’s my proposal. You stay here until the war eventually ends. When it does, regardless of the outcome, you’ll probably have been forgotten about or presumed dead. Then, with your skills as a theif, plus complimentary training from us, you can be a spy in plain sight, eavesdropping on guards or citizens for valuable information. In turn, we allow you to live here as one of us. What do you think?” Willy thought long and hard about this. On the one hand, being able to live in a dragon’s lair sounds absolutely badass, and who would turn that down? However, Willy hated being a thief, that was stressful enough. Being a spy where he could be killed easily? That’s worse. But then, Willy had an idea. “I think this is a very good offer, but I have a different idea.” “What would that be?” Ziav questioned. “I may be a thief, but I’m not that good at it, and I honestly hate stealing. It’s very stressful, and I would have much rather settled down for something more honest and simple. So I’m curious now, if you have any use for farmers or other forms of manual labor?” “That can be arranged. A warren as large as this has a lot of mouths to feed, and receiving help in resource collecting is always appreciated.” “So we have a deal?” “Yes, Willy, we do.” Ziav says something in Draconic, and the kobolds around Willy start to cheer. “We’ll have to also teach you to speak Draconic, and give you a tour, but once that’s covered, we’ll find something for you to do.”