Mork barley awoke to the cool steel of lattice bars pressed against his cheek bone; however, hunger aroused his darker nature forcing the woozy remnants of victory wine away.
"Oy, Oy! Meat! I needs Meat! Ya gots to gimme that", Mork sounded off.
As he rose from the lukewarm ground encrusted limestone edged into the blackened scars upon Mork's back and created what looked like a map of a lost continent.
"Shut yer stinkin trap, goblin! Yull get yer meat when it's good and ready or when I'm feelin like it", the kettle master said as he marched from one end of the kettle to the other. His hand held a whip fashioned out of gritted leather.
"No fair! Hey rules! There's a rules which yer not being fair to me. I can tells Richter and he'll listen to me."
The kettle master cracked his whip and replied, "Ya think Richter would agree with a dirty, green, stinkin goblin? After ya killed his brotha?"
"Not like that it was not, was not!He was a be askin me to do so and I did."
"Why ya stinkin puss filled wind bag. I ought to gut ya from yer gizzard",he unsheathed a blade from his side", all the way down to the back of yer arse and feed it to ya! To think that a lowly scumbag of a goblin can kill the greatest hero in the thirteen kingdoms of Kron is ludacris!"
"No's ya don't understand....
"No ya don't understand", the kettle master said as he kicked the rusted lattice,"goblins ain't got a right to nothin. Ya killed my best friend and if it weren't for the rules of the Dome, then ya would be deader then his royal grimness himself--hellish furry he is. He shoulda took ya and left me friend."
The Kettle master reached into a black satchel and pulled out a small brown case.
Mork looked at the case first with the curiosity of a child.
"What, whatcha got there", Mork replied.
"Oh yer about to find out. It's very special indeed."
Slowly the kettle master opened the case and then he whistled a tune which perked up the wings of the insect and a quick buzz sound was heard.
"Yum Mork eat, yes?"
"Ya see this here bug borrows inside of yer skin. And ya think to yourself it's not that bad. I can just pluck it out or maybe, I'm a goblin and bugs don't don't penetrate the skin. Well you'd be wrong. See this bug is made by Elvish magic and was meant to destroy them bastard Necro beasts. Ya know the ones Yer kind are so fond of. I hear that it borrows through the skin leaving no traces at all. Then it splits in two gouging yer heart and brain. Best of all ya can't move and ya can't speak. So, who are ya gonna tell?"
"No, no thems are no more. There hasn't been a White Wing since great war ye know that", Mork replied.
"Yer right and this one is a rarity. Called me in a few favors for this beaut."
"Oy, oy! Kettle master! No, please. Please, uh Mork tells truth ye can't do this. I won battle. Law say one more fight and am free like birds I am. Richter..."
"Enough about Richter", kettle master shouted. He whistled a tune different from before and the bug within the brown case flew towards the goblin. Kettle master whistled once more and the beetle flew ferociously at Mork landing on his chest. It dug it's legs into the first layer of Mork's skin.
"NO! No! Please kettle master! Please, no!"
"Are ya cryin? That's rich. Really it is", Kettle master replied as he grined from ear to ear.
Mork attempted to grab the white beetle but it dug deeper. This time into the bone.
"Ahhhhhaha", Mork belted out in horror.
"Ya know that does something for me. Like having that fine drink of Ale or that sweet las from Bell's Brothel."
While kettle master relished in the moment there was a pounding at the metal door behind him on the other side of the kettle.
"Dammit not now!"
Kettle master very quickly touched his middle finger to his thumb and made a snapping sound. The insect quickly detached itself from Mork's chest and flew back into the brown casing.
"Ya best not be sayin a damn thing. Keep yer mouth shut the entire time or so help me", Kettle Master replied to Mork.
"Mork say nothing, nothing I say",Mork replied while he curled into a fetal position.
Frustrated Kettle Master walked hard and fast towards toward the door with grieves clinking each step he took.
"Keep yer bloody knickers on", he shouted trying to signal the pounding to stop.
When he finally arrived at the door he replied, "What's yer business here now?"
"Well that is certainly no way to speak to your Lord, now is it" a voice said from the other side.
"Shite can't believe he's here, right now" he thought to himself and then excitedly opened the creaky door.
"M'lord Richter forgive me, I cannot see who's on the other side. I wasn't expectin ya until tomorrow."
"Jergan my old friend I have much to bestow upon you this morning. One of those happens to be the finest wine from the province of Wentz."
"M'lord it be only the first hour of the wee morning."
"Jergan, since when has that ever stopped your thirst?"
"Ya are quite right, m'lord."
"But Of course I am."
"But uh, what about yer brotha? Aren't we mornin?"
"Morn? Yes, yes. Of course we all morn in our own ways. But please let us leave this place and imbibe in a more hospitable space. Per chance a kitchen chamber of sorts? "
"M'lord we don't got anything like that here."
"Well I suppose here will do nicely. This bottle is dubbed the Blue Rose. It is quite famous in the lands of Nod and Gilgal. They say the Blue Rose is used for medicines, tonics and spirits."
"Yes, m'lord it looks to be real fancy like."
"Certainly is a tasteful vintage however I would not proclaim it's fanciness. I digress. Partake old friend I've purchased this specifically for you."
"M'lord aren't ya gonna drink with me."
"With certainty. I have secured a bottle of my own, see? She's called Gypsy Wine. She's a vintage from an exotic land with sultry women."
"Yer's looks magnificent."
"Yes, a golden red with hints of caramel. One of the most delectable and delightful drinks of Norsh Land.
"So m'lord if ya don't mind me askin, what brings ya here?"
"Well, I must wholeheartedly admit that I am here solely to inquire of the murderous swine who killed my beloved brother."
"Funny ya should ask m'lord the swine says he knows ya", Jurgan said as he took another gulp of the bottle. He wiped the liquid from his chin and then burped.
"I'm glad you are enjoying the drink. And what pray tell has he spoken."
"Well crazy stuff m'lord. He tried to say that ya helped him do it. If I even understand him, clearly. I mean what a joke, right?"
"Humorous, yes. A joke, hardly."
"What? What do ya mean m'lord?"
"It is quite a long story, but I suppose I have time to give you more of a condensed version as it were. You see my brother-- the grandiose hero he is, is a bastard's bastard."
"What? But he's your brotha m'lord."
"Yes, yes he is. Please do not interrupt me again old friend."
"Beg your pardon m'lord."
"As I was saying, he is a bastard's bastard. Behind the glorious vale of vales he is foulest of the hero gods. A murderer of infants and a harvester of the same. You see my godly brother farmed the little ones and sold them off to the highest bidder. Of course not before he",Richter gulped from his bottle,"partook of his harvest."
"Nah! I won't believe it m'lord. Ya gotta be wrong there's gotta be an answer for this. Me friend, brotha in arms ain't no stinkin child lover or skin trader!"
"How are you fairing? Old friend? Do you feel a tightness around your neck?"
"Ya know, now that ya mention it, I'm startin to feel a wee bit sheepish or woozy."
"That means it is working. Good I'm pleased."
"Neva had it work this way before. I mean it's only the first pint and all."
"Yes, well I poisoned you."
Jurgan spit out the wine onto the lime stoned ground and coughed a bit right before falling over onto his back.
"What in the bloody hell do ya mean ya poisoned me?"
"Do not be coy Jurgan. You understand quite well what I said and what you are feeling."
Richter lightly bit his bottom lip as if to some how passify himself. "Do you remember my son?
An image flashed in Richter's mind.
"Yes, m'lord but whats this got to do with me bein on the ground?"
"Everything. It has everything to do with you being on the ground. My brother tore my son from me. His own nephew he sold into slavery. And you, you help him do this to me."
"No m'lord ain't no such thing happened I swear it."
"You were never a good liar. On the other hand I have always been a fine one. I know that you are a major conduit for the Wasbi skin trade. Ask me why I know this."
"No, m'lord yer wrong. This lad would never..."
Richter raised his knee up to his abdomen like a catapult and fired his large boot into Jurgan's rounded belly.
Jurgan practically vomited and defecated himself at the same time. He coughed three time and spoke "M'lord why?"
Richter kicked him once more while shouting "Ask! Ask!"
Jurgan's bowels finally give way and so did the meat from the night before.
"A grown man who has shit himself like a mere babe. I will ask you one more time mere babe. Ask me."
"How'd ya know, m'lord?"
"That was quite easy was it not?"
Richter placed his foot upon Jurgan's chest as he spoke.
Now I will tell you. My son... My brother", his nostrils flared and he snarled,"tore my flesh and blood from me. Do you realize I searched an entire continent? It was almost the entirety of the war. My family thought me a coward and I was ostracized by my kin. A black sheep of the family Corgan as it were. I searched for years unaware that it was him. All the while that hero comforted me with soothing words and gestures of hope. Then one day after much bribing, killing and fornicating...I discovered a lead. It was an old trader from the border of my brother's sworn enemy Larthian. The old man informed me as I bleed him dry", Richter swallowed a gulp of wine,"saying there was a boy who was brought from a proper house. My ear's perked up and there was a surge brewing in this heart of mine. I inquired as to how? How does he know of this? His next words chilled me to my bones. The old bastard said, there was a man who wore the same royal tattoo across his right cheek bone. His hair was fairy red with long locks and skin darkened by the sun. Not only these; however, the unmistakable battle scar on the left side of his cheek and a black fleece. It was the same fleece given to my hero brother by the gods, I imagined. Would you believe I attempted to convince myself that it could not be my brother? That it was a cruel joke by the vicious Larthian himself? Then something happened. There was hope flowing through me and not merely vengeance. And of course that was a foolish mistake because the old bastard told me the boy had been used in a ritual sacrifice. He had been offered to the cannibal god Yure'Zu."
Richter looked up to the stone rafters and took a deep breath.
"Please don't kill me, m'lord. I had no choice. Yer brotha would've killed me and me whole entire kinfolk."
"I would in fact do the same. Yet I have determined that I am not my brother. Your sacrifice is enough and there is more to be done through out the kingdom. You are not the source of the infection. You are merely one who is infected. Soon I will cleanse the entire kingdom. But before then, you will die a slow death. It will be hours before they find you with nothing more than an issue of the heart."
"Wait m'lord,"he took a breath", at least tell me one thing. How did the goblin slay yer brotha?"
"All of this time I thought you to be a bright one. Poison. Pure and simple."
Jurgan the kettle master gave up hope as he began to hold his gut and accept his fate.
"Mork! Mork!"
"Yes, m'lord."
"How do you fair my friend?"
"Mork's had better day's, days better. Ye took to long."
Richter opened the cage with the key swiped from Jurgan as they greeted each other at the door.
"I wholeheartedly apologize for that. There were others which required my attention. Come let us go from this place. There is much work to be done."
---End----