'Well, Mr. Fick, you had better show me the weapon you have so gracefully provided, and state simply your price.'
'It is not as simple as that, Mr. Chu'rook. For there is nothing stopping you, once you see my Luggage, from ordering all your soldiers to tear me apart. This contract here,' Fick produced a scroll from his ragged and voluminous cloak. 'Is binding to your last breath. Should you sign this parchment, you will agree that the minimum price of my luggage is to be four-hundred acres of fertile land where my race can peacefully live and prosper. It also states that if a parley of races is called, then the wererats must be given the opportunity to participate.'
'It is a high price you ask, Mr. Fick. Very well, show me your Luggage, and I shall decide.'
Fick bowed low, and stepped out of the room momentarily. When he stepped back in, he had a woman who looked vaguely familiar to Chu'rook in chains, and forced he to kneel. Holding up a single finger as a plea for patience, Fick stepped out once again. He re-entered with a man, similarly chained. Once again Fick stepped out with those deceptively swift strides, and returned with a very remarkable charge. In fact, this chained man caused Chu'rook to stand up out of his seat and exclaim under his breath 'It cannot be,' then louder, to Fick, 'I agree to your terms, Mister Fick.'
'Mister Chu'rook, you have not yet seen the fattest fruit of my labors. Wait a moment more, and the scale of my power, and what I offer you will be revealed.'
Fick had played his cards right, Chu'rook realized. Now he could charge much more than the minimum price for all for of the chained people, since obviously three was worth two-hundred acres of land and whatever else the contract had stated. The third man that Fick brought in drew such vibrant hue of language from Chu'rook that even Fick, the wererat king, made a mental note to have a bath.
Chu'rook laughed when he had finished cussing. He laughed because in front of him knelt Scar and Benedict: the very two men that Chu'rook had foreseen would be the largest setback to his plans. Two men that had mocked him openly, brought him down for being a charismatic leader instead of a brave one. While they were leading their troops down the field, he had talked his soldiers into such a storm that needed no leader on the frontline, swinging a massive flail or flickering in and out so swiftly that none could follow. They had always taunted Chu'rook on account of his non-warrior build and personality. And now, those that had taunted him since his time in Full-moon, were kneeling here before him. He looked up at Fick.
'Four-hundred acres. A seat on the council of races. I shall try and get it for you.' said Chu'rook, extremely pleased with how the meeting had turned out.
Until then Fick had been amicable, and his hood had been concealing his whole head. Now he reached up and brought it back, revealing a countenance that Chu'rook would never forget, forever branded upon the backs of his eyelids.
Fick's whole head was hairless, an extremely rare genetic trait in Wererats, but that was hardly the first thing Chu'rook noticed. Fick's head was striped. He had three evenly spaced scars running down his face, one on his right temple, curving to encompass his right cheekbone, one on his left temple, similarly diverted to fetch his left cheekbone, and one straight down the middle of his face. The scarred places -each about an inch and a half wide- simply had no skin; the red muscles of Fick's face bare to the elements. Unfortunately the bottom half of the spectacle, that is, the bottom half of Fick's face, was concealed by a piece of cloth, that just didn't cover his cheekbones fully. Twin mounds of yellow-white, protruding impressively far from the base spectacle, vanquishing the mask's attempts to tame the bones. Then Chu'rook noticed Fick's eyes. Completely black. Iris, pupil, the other bit, all jet-black.
'You will not try and get me what I need, Mister Chu'rook, you will get me what I need.' said Fick from behind the cloth. He flicked his hood back on, and strode purposefully from the room. 'Wouldn't want to keep you from Avalon's newest monarch, would I?' he flung over his shoulder, leaving Chu'rook clutching the scroll, which had magically changed, Chu'rook noticed. Now it read:
In return for services rendered, I, Chu'rook, leader of my clan, do commit four hundred acres of fertile land to the wererats, for them to do as they please, and also reserve a seat for their leader, and any future leader, on the council of races.
Signed:
Chu'rook barely even paused as a quill appeared in his hand, dipping it in the newly arrived ink, and signed the contract. Fick smirked to himself, bowed deep to Chu'rook, and strode from the room, and made his way out of the castle, slipping past blank werewolves that he would try to tear him to pieces if they knew his heritage. Fick pictured the scene, a wolvian marketplace, filled with civilians and off-duty warriors, who suddenly all turn to the cat among the pigeons, or the rat among the wolves, more appropriately. And they all would have died, pierced or slashed by his two daggers, Fyodor and Fyojorn. The marketplace littered with bodies and flooding with blood, crows already gathering for the biggest feast of canine flesh in bird memory.
He walked out of Chu'rook's capitol city without being stopped once.
Back in the castle, it took all of Benedict's strength to raise his head and spit 'You know not what you have done.' his head collapsed back into place, and even Gabrial was mightily impressed, for she could not even manage to flex a finger.
'What I have done, Peer Benedict, is remove my opponent's queen while gaining another bishop. It seems that you have had your run of battles, Benedict Plakater, for you and your friends shall be locked in my dungeon until a time were it is too late for even you to stop my plans, and then you shall see what I am doing is for the good of Avalon, not myself. ' he finished unconvincingly.
He gestured to the guards to take them to the dungeons. He stops the first guard, and says 'Top security cells. Block A.' The guard nods, and drags the limp Scar -with due difficulty- off to a flight of spiral stairs ending in a corridor which has modern walls and windows, which was scarier for Benedict and Scar than all the deals with wererats in the world.
