The air was calm. Some noise, sure, but nothing too bad. Just the rustle and bustle of a quarry. Birds flew in bliss. Squirrels collected nuts and acorns to store for the next winter. Frogs and fish rested peacefully in little ponds.
That was until an unholy, demonic scream crackled across the sky. The fish shook in their ponds, the squirrels barricaded their trees and the birds fell out of the sky. The animals knew this sound. It was the sound of crystal-cutting.
Even before dawn broke, the miners were already hard at work. Slicing through magenta crystal like it was hot butter. The sound of these machines would have a regular person writhing in pain, but not to these folk. No, these miners had heard the worst. Their eardrums were adapted to the terror these metallic blades caused. A piece finally fell off and crashed to the floor, causing cheers to erupt from the tired miners.
Back inside the main cabin, the Foreman sat motionless, reading through their budget once more. He chugged at his whiskey bottle, only to find it was as dry as a desert. He threw it atop the pile in annoyance and reached for his special flask.
"What's got you so worked up?" asked Wolf, exiting the chaos of sound and sight outside.
"Oh, nothing much, just the fact that we don't have enough to cover wages"
"Again?"
"Look, as I've said that asshole doesn't pay us!" The Foreman threw his arms out widely and angrily. Spreadsheets and documents spat out onto the ground, melting into alcohol or other stacks of paper.
"Well...I do have ONE idea that's been floating around in my head lately" Wolf pulled up a chair and got to eye level with his boss
"Oh? And what would that be?"
"Sell pieces to the Three Heroes Church"
The Foreman stared at his compatriot. He did a mental note to check in with the local village's doctor tomorrow. "Wolf...are you a moron?"
"Now just listen-"
"Just LISTEN?! You saw we they did with the Briar Boys, and a demi only helped them with transportation. ONE DEMI. And their camp was erased to the fucking ground! But please, tell how we can sell to them when HALF OF OUR CAMP OUR DEMI'S!"
"Ok Ok! Just listen to what I have to say first. So I went to Faubley last week to try and secure more funding right? Well, I met a trader while we were there. His specialty was being a middle-man from manufacturer to consumer. So...perhaps he could be of use to us."
"Is he a Demi?"
"How stupid do you think I am?"
"From the sound of this plan, pretty fucking stupid my friend"
The two grinned at each other, both in delight of playful banter and due to the same lightbulb popping into their heads. "You're plan is...it could actually work. Now all I gotta worry about is-"
A knock came from the door. Gazef walked in, his face looking sullen and defeated. "Sir...Mr Augustus has arrived."
The Foreman huffed and rubbed his eyes. "Speak of the devil" he muttered while trudging through the endless sea of papers. "You coming?"
"I really wish I didn't have to, but I can't let you have all the fun" joked Wolf, a slight smirk ending his sentence. "Let's just get this over with."
The Foreman nodded, and exited the cabin. The sounds of hell stood frozen in silence, as a demon stood before the meek and mortal workers. His coat stretched out like black wings. His pale skin made him seem like a vengeful spirit back from the dead. Matched with his blonde hair and fiery orange eyes, it gave a stature that shook the bones of all that stook in his wake.
Somewhere out in the woods, Viking was collecting firewood. He didn't know why he was there, just that he was. Life had been hard, so the beauty of simplicity was appreciated. All the monsters, all the raiders, the slavers, the greedy traders and the corrupt knights. He thought about going home, up north, pay his family a visit. But...he had more important things to do now. Like making sure his new companions were warm enough for the night.
He made his way along, over hedge and under vine; a stack of firewood in his hands. He heard them, the bouncing bunnies and the running deer. But he almost smelt another. It smelt like goblin. Viking didn't like goblins. They smelt nasty, they tastier nastier, and they did the nastiest things imaginable. Evil little hellspawns that shouldn't exist.
One of the green buggers pounced out of the bushes, spear in hand. Although to any normal human that spear looked more like a stick. And to Viking, a toothpick. He swung an arm sharply across the air, and smashed the goblin's skull into paste.
A few more popped out now. Probably a hunting party by the looks of things. One, two, three of them all jumped out and attacked. Viking grabbed their deceased companion and swung his lifeless body at the attacking trio. Bone and meat were shredded into the trees and bushes. Entrails hung from branches and blood splattered over Viking's angered face. A crossbow bolt came from up high, and dented as soon as it hit the thick hide of a skinned Griffin. Viking picked up a roundish, isolated head and launched it like a fastball in the direction of the bolt. Blood splashing into his face confirmed the kill. He heard nor smelt no more. With a heavy sigh and a heavy pile of firewood in hand, Viking headed back off towards camp.
"Ahhh, Pastal, it has been such a long time since we met" remarked the wealthy noble
"Oh I know, I know. Mining is a...a tough business" replied the Foreman, the sun baking his blackened skin.
"I can tell. With the large little chunk of crystal lying on the floor there. Tell me Pastal, why IS there a piece of crystal on the floor there?" The man's tone darkened, and his eyes flashed to a deathly glare.
"Well, as I said before in my numerous letters to you, Mr Augustus, my crew and I are quite parched when it came to dynamite."
"Oh? I hope you aren't suggesting I'm the one to blame, dear Pastal."
"I am"
The wind went silent; utter dumbfoundedness filled the air. Wolf stroked the hilt of his blade with the softest touch. The eyes of that demon burned with fire, with hatred.
"How.....How DARE you. I am the one that funds you. I am the one that feeds you. All of your accomplishments have been because of I, Pastal Beezelbub. You peasants are all the same. Whiney, ungrateful vermin to society."
"Don't YOU dare speak to Mr Beezelbub that way!" cried Wolf "YOU haven't given us shit! We held back every manner of robber and horror, all while breaking our backs over this fucking crystal. And what did we get in return? Your scraps and leftovers! So don't ever sputter such nonsense to any of us, because we all know you're full of it!"
"DON'T speak in that tone to me, Demi-human scum! Your kind out of any of these worthless cretins should be grateful you get that and not sent off to a farm. This is why I hate Faubley, all your kind running amock in government. If you talk to me like that again, I will make sure, personally, that you suffer an angrecious, most agonizing-"
"Let's keep this civil, shall we Augustus?" announced Pastal "And please refrain from such comments about my workers. It rather upsets them, which in turn upsets me. And I don't think you'd want to deal with me when I'm upset" Pastal's words were spoken on blunt lips. The demon shuddered, but didn't show weakness. Those eyes though...those were the eyes of a monster more fearsome than any corrupt noble, demonic horror or mad king.
"You still must be punished for your transgressions, Pastal Beezelbub. Guards, arrest him on the account of contractual treason!" Screamed Augustus. His guards, which amassed to the size of a firing squad, held their rifles to attention. Shrieks of iron responded, with the workers holding firm with swords, daggers, hammers, axes or even just a kitchen knife.
"Gentleman, please. Let's all just calm down for a second." Pastal cleared his throat, and produced a set of papers to the angered Noble. "If you could spare a look, sir."
The papers were snatched away from the Foreman's hand, their contents scanned away with perverted eyes. "This is just a copy of our contracts" scoffed Augustus, scrunching the paper in annoyance. "Do you take me for a fool Beezelbub?"
"Now now, don't be so quick to judge. If you would go to the fifth page and read the 5th line of the 5th paragraph, that would be very much appreciated."
The Noble rolled his eyes and flipped through the pages. "If in the event concerning the deal is broken, altered, or in any way hampered during the excavation, the contracted party must pay back all invested capital to the contractor, along with 10% interest if the deal was broken in 6 months of contract" Augusuts gave a puzzled look at Pastal "So what? You're going to pay me back for not giving you more resources? Remember, your job was to bring me the crystal with what I initially supplied you. Therefore, your argument here is void, Pastal Beezelbub."
"Oh, I do believe you're quite wrong, Mr Augustus. You see, the issue isn't that you didn't give us more dynamite as we requested. The issue here is that we've recently changed contractors."
Augustus scoffed again, with a unimpressed smirk coming over his face. "Really? You really think I'd believe that? I'd like to remind you I was the only one in Faubley to ever give you and your little merry band here a chance. All the rest turned you boys down. But go on, please. Tell me of this mysterious investor you've brought onboard."
"I'm glad you asked. You might have heard of him actually. Goes by the name Hector, Prince of Faubley and 2nd heir to the Faubley throne."
The snow-white skin of the Noble turned pale as Pastal mouthed his comeback. Hector Faubley. Second-in-line for the Faubley throne, and an incredible businessman. His knowledge of entrepreneurship had single-handedly saved Faubley from an economic collapse. His hobby and passion was business. His lifeblood was trade deals. His currency: contracts. It's no wonder he's the elected minister of finance. A contract under Hector cements you for its duration. Dozens, if not hundreds request his aid everyday. And somehow, these backwater peasants got a contract?
"This...This is..."
A wagon was brought up, with a pink light emitting from inside its cloth covering. "Here's all of the money we owe you, Mr Augusuts. It's been a pleasure as always." Pastal smiled and stuck out his hand for a friendly gesture. Augustus looked down, and chuckled to himself. He grabbed the hand and shook hard, smiling away. His eyes glossed over to Wolf, where his smile grew.
"It's been a pleasure doing business with you Pastal. Good luck to you and your endevaours" The noble waved them all off, wit his armed guard following in close pursuit.
Viking was lost. Well, he had been lost, and now he thought he new where he was going. Night had fallen, but he got a lot of firewood. Enough to last a whole fortnight he reckoned. He saw a warm glow on the horizon. That must be where the camp is. The fires were quite bright as well. Good thing he did grab all this firewood. But the closer he got, the larger, the brighter, the...warmer the fires got. As he went over hedge and under vine for one last time, he looked on in disbelief as the warm fires were burning the mining camp to ash.
The Foreman heard cries of terror and panic outside. Groggy and still half-asleep, he grabbed a sword and flintlock pistol. Workers were scattered everywhere. Some were hiding in terror, others ran away in fear. The brave and the stupid picked up swords and daggers and bows and arrows and shields and axes and simple table knives, and ran to an advancing platoon of...Beastmen?
But these were not like traditional beastman. Sure they had their crude bows and arrows and shields and swords and axes. Yes, they used fire arrows and threw sharp rocks. But...they were also wearing iron armour. Expensive iron armour. Furthermore, they seemed to be wielding firearms. Platoons of beastmen fired onto charging workers while the more brutish of the bunch would finish off the rest. The Foreman gritted his teeth, and called out to his men. "Everyone! gather to southern gate!"
The meek and the brave and the stupid and those who were running away stopped in their tracks, and quickly made their way to the southern gate. "Everybody, arm yourselves! Trolls, use the wagons as shields. Hold this line!" The trolls nodded and smashed together carts and debris as a makeshift shield. "Archers, crossbowmen! Fire onto the enemy!"
It was makeshit, it was crude, and it was desperate. But right now, Pastal Beezelbub would take desperate. Wolf and Gazef was nowhere in sight. The two were probably holding off the rest of the Beastmen at the Nothern gate. Arrows flew across the burnt clouds and struck a few of the advancing troops, but nothing substantial. Wave after wave of arrow and bolt flew across the sky. Some fell, yes, but not enough. There were still 100 or more advancing to this ragtag team. Pastal needed to think of a plan, and he needed to fast. "Perhaps...perhaps that gas could work..."
But then, out of nowhere, a cry rang out. Multiple cries, and what seemed to be an explosion. Blood arose into the air like vapour, and the taste was in everyone's' mouths. Pastal made his way to the front of the line and looked through the gap. The Beastmen horde was nowhere near their full strength. Bodies littered the floor with more holes than swiss cheese. Guts and brain matter were splattered everywhere, and fragments of bone were sprinkled on like seasoning. Beastmen charged through the hazy mist of blood, and arrows flew by. But wood, flesh and bone were decimated as another blast shredded up the earth. It didn't look like an explosion, however, but more like...small little fragments? Almost like pebbles being thrown at immense speed. Only a handful of Beastmen remained now, and they seemed cautious and frantic. Fear took hold of their bodies as they searched the granite fog for whatever turned their comrades into chunks of meat. Pastal watched as a towering figure came into view, with the raiders unaware of its presence. What he saw next...it was so something so cruel, so unimaginably brutal, that the screams and scenes of the massacre would haunt his nightmares.
The figure made its way towards Pastal and the rest of the workers. It was Viking, covered in blood. His face made him look like a demonic monster, or a witch of the occult. He broke apart the barrier and stood before the band of miners. But he did not speak. He watched and stared at the miners with a blank expression. Somebody needed to make the first move.
"So...is there anybody left?" asked Pastal, matching the gaze of the Northerner.
"No"
"What about our miners?"
"I don't know"
"I...see. Ok men, lets put these fires out and tend to any wounded!"
The once barricade miners now scattered across the quarry. Lines of water buckets were created to extinguish roaring flames, and all the wounded men where sent to the canteen area. Herbs and bandages was the best the quarry could offer. Sadly, it just wasn't enough for some. Tears soon outmatched the blood on the battlefield as friends, blood-brothers and soulmates had to say their goodbyes. It was...a dark moment. One that would also haunt Pastal's many, many nightmares to come.
The Foreman made his way to the Nothern Gate, where the attack commenced. It was a destructive sight. So many bodies, and buckets of blood painted the makeshift walls. Strangely enough, Pastal noticed a trail of blood leading to a nearby supply store.
"Hey, who was on watch here?" asked the Foreman, following the trail. By now, others had noticed the mess of gore leading to the bloodied door of the supply cabin. "I...think Thomas and Mike were stationed here, but Gazef was about to take over for them."
Pastal's hand hovered over the bloodied handle. He gulped hard; his bones shook. He grabbed the torch illuminating the door and opened it suddenly. A cold breeze blew past him. Darkness seemed to consume the room, as not even moonlight seemed to pierce the blackened windows. Pastal outstretched his arm, letting the torch reveal the secrets of the dark. There, illuminated in the warm orange glow of the torch, lay the half-severed head of Gazef. Blood spat onto the floorboards, his eyes blank. The Foreman couldn't hold it in anymore, and vomited across the floor violently. Gazef, such a enthusiastic young man. Naive and shy, but had a heart. He was like the little brother of everyone in the camp. Always determined, and always stood his ground no matter the danger. The bloodied sword that lay in his lifeless hand only proved that. Pastal let the salty tears fall down his cheeks. It would be disgraceful to rub them away at at time like this.
Through teary eyes, Pastal noticed something. Something in Gazef's mouth. He bent over to drag it out. With a heavy and disgraced heart, he opened the letter. A letter which contained writings made of blood.
Ever heard of the tale of the Foreman who cried Wolf?
He never heard the cries that would once engulf.
His proud, rough, demi-human ears
Were sliced off, as the Wolf cried salty tears
And at the bottom of this letter, stapled below the bloodied poem, was an equally bloodied wolf ear. A demi-human wolf ear.
"No...no it's not...it....it isn't..." Pastal's body started to shake. The floodgates were opened and tears poured out onto the paper. He was a son...he was his son....how could...why...
Other workers stared in disbelief. Gazef...was dead. And something bad happened to Wolf. Nobody else could make Pastal weep like that. Viking looked on, a blunt expression on his face.
"So, when do we head out?" asked the towering brute.
Pastal and the others looked up at him. "W-What?" choked Pastal
"I smell nobility on their armour. These weren't raiders, but hired mercenairies. So, who is it you're going to kill?"
"Kill?" Pastal looked down at the severed ear and the severed head. His two proteges...his two...children...
"Or, do you not want that? Are you perhaps, a pacifi-
"Viking...how good is that nose of yours"
"I can pick up a trail up to 48 hours"
"Ahh, good. That means I can have a nice little sleep and think."
"Think on what?" Asked Viking as a mad-eyed Pastal made his way through a crowd of workers.
"Oh, only how I'm going to ruthlessly and mercilessly butcher Augustus and his family when I get my hands on him" Pastal smiled an unnerving smile. Viking felt a chill crawl up his spine. He had seen death, and he had seen pain. Lots and lots of pain. But nothing he had seen compared to the hatred, anger and evil in that man's eyes.
I will hunt you down, and slowly skin your family alive in front of your eyes. You will beg me to make you bleed when I'm done, Augustus.