Tales, Scripts, and Accounts

Butchers from Omashu

There I was, staring at a meat locker. Bodies hung from the ceiling by thick chains and only a few candles to luminate the slick floors. Freshly cut pieces laid draining across the butcher's benches. All was silent when we arrived- other than a few dripping sounds and our own wet footsteps. Not a single escape route in this musty basement, so anyone that would have been down here must have known we were coming and vacated prior.

Each of us spread out to investigate the damp room. None of us were thrilled to be here, especially given the circumstances. Vibood angrily kicked the lower half of a right arm that was soaking on the floor when he noticed the Hornet's dagger tattooed onto the corpse in front of us. The hand bearing the thief's tattoos thudded to the floor with a splat. He aggressively ran his hands through his dirty black hair and paced.

"You know she's gonna be pissed." Exclaimed the voice of a masked woman who stood in the dark entrance of the room. The figure approached Vibood, but not like anyone would expect. She was ominously silent despite the slick floors and her fluid movements made it look like this was another walk in the park. I would have suspected she might be a ghost if I hadn't already heard her speak- and watched her footsteps effortlessly maneuver what could have been mistaken as a battle scene in close quarters.

"That's what? Four now?" Her voice hauntingly pierced the cloth with ease. Vibood's hands were now firmly planted on the solid wooden bench that held the dead Hornet's body. No response. Not a word from me either, just as he ordered.

"Maybe if it was one of yours, you would respond differently" Eyes of the Huntress darted in my direction and my immediate- and correct- response after choking on my breath was to look anywhere else. To act as if I wasn't there. I casually let myself wander to a desk with some notes and began to make myself useful by collecting them.

"No, no. No need for that. You're right. I was really hoping they'd come around, but I admit- it's time. We'll get everyone on them, but I still don't think anyone will find them."

"What makes you so optimistic?" The Huntress hissed back. I could hear her almost snarl even across the room with my back turned.

Vibood knelt to the floor and with the cracks from his knees, pointed out a dry circle on the stone basement floor. "Their escape route. At least one of them is an earthbender who knows the catacombs exist. They could be anywhere. Lounging in your den or cowering in Omashu."

"You goddamn tunnelers are going to be the death of me. I will let her and the rest know. Do what you can. Remember, soon it might be one of your own."

The Huntress turned to make way for the door, glancing in my direction as if trying to make eye contact. Silence echoed for several moments and I knew she was gone, but I still didn't wish to look up. I'd almost convinced myself that I was truly getting invested in these notes written by the sculptors. Alas, I only now started to read what I held in my hand:

What's better than one dead noble? Two dead nobles. And better than that? One dead Hornet. There was a time I caught one and wasn't hungry, so I just took their arms and sent the rest back. Biggest mistake I've made thus far. The leaner they are, the better sausage they make. Obviously their diet matters too and that's why we don't bother with half the bodies in the walls. Would be a waste of a dish.

Turns out that enough of a selection always contains both ripe and rotten options and if you tend to pick the near rotten fruit, no one seems to care if it's missing. Same goes for humans. Known criminal, but no proof? Less people will care to search if they vanish. And that's why it's always a treat when a noble suddenly is exposed as dirty. A change of pace with a change of taste. Even those in Omashu notice on occasion.

"Gather what's worth analyzing and meet me beneath the Inn at dusk." Vibood grabbed the arm he previously kicked against the wall and exited with no other instructions. Only the eyes of the Huntress could have kept me in that rancid tomb of a room any longer. I quickly stashed the lot of papers in my leather bag and while closing it, I noticed a faint rat emblem patterned on the side which normally rests against my hip. One that matched those I saw on the streets. Before today, that was just extra detail added by the artist. How odd.