The rest of the day had dragged itself along almost comically slow after the incident. Of course the task of cleaning up the mess had fallen right on Ricardo and Regan's shoulders. They had spent nearly an hour sweeping up all of the splinters and broken glass while also carrying the pieces of the table out back to throw away later. It had dragged on, mostly because Dogberry insisted from his perch on one of the barstools that they clean up every single sliver, if he found anything later then it was coming out of their paychecks.
Ricardo rolled his eyes and had half a mind to take Dogberry up on his challenge, but the he thought better of it. He was not betting on a dwarf being unable to find something shiny. He'd definitely lose.
Gradually some customers wandered in throughout the day. Ricardo could see the puzzled looks being shot in their direction and tried to ignore it, muttering to Regan that they could actually be doing their jobs instead of stuck on Dogberry's inane, menial task of combing over the area looking for microscopic bits of debris.
"Oh, I don't know, I kind of like it," Regan said as he watching Dogberry cheerfully greet the newcomer. If there was one thing that never failed to make the dwarf happy, it was more customers in his tavern. "And so does he, look at him go! I swear it is as if he can smell the money on them."
He snorted down a laugh, glancing at Dogberry to make sure he didn't notice anything. "The clothes," he said quickly. "Look at what he is wearing; linen instead of cotton. He has more money if he can afford to walk around in clothes like that."
Regan thought about that for a moment. "Well I suppose if you say so," she said, dumping the contents into a small sack they had brought with them. "The Green Mother provides everything for us, so it's hard to understand why people take some things as more valuable than others, when they are all equal gifts from Her."
Ricardo never quite knew what to say whenever Regan started talking about the elven goddess. Not that he didn't understand the concept or their beliefs, but it wasn't really something he felt as if he could converse about, being such an outsider to their culture. "Everyone else breaks it down differently," he tried to say. "Some fabric feels softer and better than others, or does something more useful, so people place more value on it."
Of course Regan looked as if she had no idea what he was talking about. He thought it would be a pointless endeavour, and he tried not to sigh. "Forget it," he said with a small chuckle. "It isn't that important anyway."
There was a loud, pointed clearing of the throat from Dogberry, and Ricardo gave a small wave over his shoulder and he dumped the last shards of glass from his bare hands into the bag as well.
More and more people began to trickle in as the day drew on, particularly after noon. It was always the same crowd, even if once in a while the faces were unfamiliar. Lower-class elves (many who chuckled and smiled at Regan and tried to pinch her hips as she walked by,) humans, and the occasional undead dominated the population of The Skulking Sheep. Things started to get a little more rowdy as time went on, especially after the town bard showed up with his lute strung over his shoulder and offered to play in the tavern in exchange for drinks.
By the time the tavern had begun to practically burst with noise, the sun had already set. Off-key singing and boisterous, loud yelling intermingling with the laughter saturated the air. Naturally, Dogberry was in the center of it all, especially around his richer and more attractive customers who he seemed to know all by name, buttering them up in some manner. Ricardo and Regan, on the other hand, had their hands full for most of the night, running back and forth between tables, delivering food and drink, and having the occasional chat with the more regular customers when Dogberry wasn't looking. That involved drinking, too, as their boss had no qualms about his employees drinking on the job if it didn't impede their work and if it encouraged customers to buy more as well.
It was around midnight that Dogberry had beckoned Ricardo over, extricating himself from his crowd for the moment and now standing in the doorway of his "office," for lack of the better word. Ricardo walked over, the room swinging only a little he told himself, and was prepared to defend himself to the fullest against whatever imagined offence Dogberry had taken into his head that he had done. He had barely opened his mouth though when Dogberry cut him off in an uncharacteristically cheerful voice, "You should take a break. In fact, I'm insisting upon it! Twenty to thirty minutes, go outside and clear your head a little, I'll send Regan after you."
Ricardo frowned a little at that. He knew the dwarf's real motivations to sending him outside; he didn't want his employees potentially saying or doing something embarrassing in front of his favorite, rich customers. "I can still wait the tables."
All he got in response was a bark of a laugh. "You're not the only one who works here, Ricardo," Dogberry said, his tone gruff in a way that wouldn't take another no for an answer. "Well, go on! Get some fresh air or something!"
Still frowning but knowing that he couldn't do anything about it, Ricardo went and did as he was ordered. The night was heavy with dark, the pools of shadow where the light pouring from the windows of the Sheep did not reach. He found himself a nice spot behind one of the back windows, half-in and half-out of the light. He looked around for a moment to make sure he was completely alone before reaching his hand into his pocket.
The coin he pulled out gleamed in the bits of light that did manage too make their way across its surface, polished and worn by years of handling. The faces were still legible, the writing not faded yet, and in some parts of the fragmented empire it was still considered a piece of currency. In other, it was an outdated relic of the past. A simple gold coin, the back emblazoned with the royal coat of arms, and the front with the profile of a face...
The shadows and gazes of the six people looming above him pressed down like a shroud. Yet they were so bright, practically impossible to make out any of them past their veils of light and mist, except for the one closest to his fallen frame, who was busy adjusting his glasses and clothes into a perfect state once more.
Avaritia tossed aside the knife carelessly, not even flinching as it clattered noisily away. The blade was unbloodied, their only casualty being Ricardo's clothes, which hung off of him in strips.
The clink of a coin hitting the floor in front of him made him snap his attention up to it, to the blank face staring up at the ceiling impassively. It had rolled only an inch or so away from the pool of blood that his dripping lips were causing to grow steadily bigger. No matter how many times he wiped them he kept coming away with his hand smeared with red.
"This is you, your worth," Avaritia said snidely. "The only reason it isn't bronze is because you came from father's loins."
One of the other figures laughed, his voice like bells made of rust and glass, but went deathly silent as Avaritia's head turned to stare at him. There were a few heavy beats of silence that passed before he looked back down at Ricardo. "The day you show me you're worth more than this," he gestured to the coin, "then I'll happily pay you back a thousandfold."
The door to the Sheep barged open, announcing Regan as she stumbled out of the tavern, wobbling with every step and giggling constantly. At first Ricardo thought she must have been with someone with how much she was laughing, but then he saw that she was completely alone. She grabbed the corner of the wall for balance and took some deep breaths, and somehow she seemed to spot him. "Ricardo!" she squeaked, immediately making her way over to him, using the wall as a support before she was close enough to hug him.
He caught her before she could fall over completely, where she proceeded to just about melt in his arms like the fluffiest of cats. "Hello," he said, laughing and holding her until she managed to right herself. "What in the world happened to you? You know you can't hold your alcohol, you shouldn't even be half this drunk."
Regan giggled again, messily fixing her hair and leaning against the wall with him. "I'm not that drunk!" she protested, even thought she was laughing with every word. "And I really don't drink thish mush," she frowned and bit her lips, as if that could somehow stop her slurring, proceeding to speak with an exaggerated slowness of a drunkard choosing their words very carefully. "But there was that cute elf who kinda likes me and he keeps buying drinks for him and me, Dogberry likes it so I don't try to stop him."
Heat flashed across Ricardo's face and Regan must have seen something in his expression, since she chuckled and pressed closer to him until their shoulders were touching. "Oh he wouldn't do anything to me," she said with all the self-assurance in the world. "He's not that type of guy, and I have you around to protect me, don't I?"
She always knew how to say something that left him floundering, not sure of what to say. Instead he decided to play it softer, and chuckled. "Haven't I always since day one?" he answered.
"Oh yesh," Regan said, her voice a murmur and clearly not understanding that she was slurring a little again. "You're so great about that, such a polite gentleman and always so protective when you think that sshomething is wrong, it's really schweet. I can't believe you haven't managed to get yourself a wife yet with that kind of attitude." She laid her head on his shoulder.
"Ah," Ricardo said, slipping his coin back into his pocket. "Perhaps I just haven't met the right person yet." The smooth, usual evasion of the question that led others to drop the line of questioning.
This time, though, Regan was not one to give up. "Like whom?" she asked slyly, leaning on him further so their faces were inches apart. "We've known each other for a really long time, Ricardo, don't you think I would be a good wife?" He could see how pink her cheeks were from her confession, although how much of it was from alcohol and how much from her own shyness was hard to tell. "I'd make a good wife to you, Ricardo, I shwear," she nuzzled her head against him, her lips steadily inching closer to his.
As sharp as a hook, the memory snagged him. His senses immediately clogged with the smell of wine and fear.
The maid's pathetic sobs sounded so small and pathetic from the corner of the bed. She was half-curled upon herself, trying desperately to hold the shreds of her clothes against herself in a vain attempt to shield her body from the world. It was little use, her hands only able to do so much.
He was in the doorway, trembling, feeling even smaller than he normally did in his twelve years of age. His heart was pounding, horror so thick in his veins that he felt numb all over, unable to move. He wanted to run, wanted to hide forever from the scene, but his legs refused to move. Tears burned in his eyes, the only warmth he had, rolling down his cheeks in thick and heavy drops.
A splash of wine landed right across the maid's head, soaking strips of her hair against her face while the rest ran down her body in streams, coloring the darkening bruises blooming across her skin with translucent red. She trembled and wept and hid her gaze from the bright figure tossing wine at her from his goblet, laughing all the while.
"Why are you crying, bastard? Take a look!" the voice from the light demanded, sharp and golden. "It's your first time seeing a woman after all, right? What are you waiting for? Mount her and show her the fierce power of the 'dragon!'" He cackled, a terrible, vile sound that crawled down Ricardo's spine like claws. He emptied the rest of the goblet's contents onto her broken body
He brought his hands up to Regan's shoulders, holding her in place as her lips came but an inch or so away from his face. His mouth felt dry and he had to swallow a few times and keep his breathing steady so his voice would not shake while he spoke to her. "Forgive me Regan, but I cannot." Despite the regret in his voice, it was still firm. "I wish I could tell you why, but..." he sighed "you just have to believe me when I say I cannot give you what you desire."
Regan looked at him, sadness and disappointed clear in her face, but then she tried to cover it up with a smile. Her eyes were clouded with her drunkenness, but she seemed to understand where he was coming from. "I am sorry too," she said, her voice quiet. "But I hope you can change your mind someday. You're jusht so amazing, you're better than any man I've ever met and you deserve to be happy, you deserve a woman who can make you happy."
He tried to think of a reply while he heart sat uneasily in his chest. At least until a sound reached him, cutting through the singing and dancing drunkards lurking inside The Skulking Sheep. Metal boots, a plethora of them. Over Regan's shoulder he could see the shapes appearing out of the darkness. Soldiers. Ones adorned in polished armor and flawless fabric, swords showing openly on their belts, faces concealed behind grim masks.
Without even really thinking, Ricardo grabbed Regan and pulled her out of the light, stealing them both away into the deepest depths of the pub's shadow, praying that the approaching collective had not seen them.
"Oh! Oh yes Ricardo! Please!" Regan gasped, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing against him. "Do you have any idea how much I've dreamed about this kind of thing between us?"
She was far too close to him now, pressing every inch of her body against his in a way that would have been incredible if it weren't for what was going on right in front of him. "Regan!" he hissed, trying to pry her off.
"Mm, Ricardo," she groaned back, shivering. "Say my name again, like you're commanding me. I like domineering men, I-"
"Now is not the time..." Ricardo tried to extricate himself and take another gander, but Regan's hands grabbing his shirt and her lips kissing his neck made it impossible to do anything and...oh have mercy was that her breast she was shoving into his hand?
"Then we can go back to my abode after our shift is done!" Regan replied instantly. "Or yours, oh to be in your bed, in your arms like this, you can have everything-"
"Who is the owner of this establishment?!" a booming voice echoed, bringing every scrap of sound to a screeching halt. Even Regan froze, going tense like a startled animal.
There was a bet of silence, then two. Right as the third one ended, Ricardo heard Dogberry's voice. "That would be me, ya loud lump!"
Everything became deathly still.
"Clear out, all of you!" the voice ordered. When a wave of protest rose up to argue, his voice snapped again. "Move it!" It was clear in his tone that he was not afraid to use force.
A shuffle of noise announced the customers leaving: chairs scrapping, voices grumbling, the swish and clink of coats and cloaks being collected and people poured out of the tavern, all of them looking back constantly at what was going on where they left. Following the crowd out on their heels was a soldier, acting as a shepherd to ensure the others went far enough away so they didn't catch an eyeful of events to come.
Still hiding in the shadow of the building, Ricardo and Regan remained perfectly still. Belatedly, he noticed that Regan's breast was still clutched in his hand and he quickly let go of it. The rest of the soldiers soon came marching out with Dogberry an inch behind them. The dwarf looked more enraged that Ricardo had ever seen him, his crinkled and aged eyes glaring fearlessly at the man above him. He was no ordinary soldier, as it was obvious from his mirror-bright, silvery armor emblazoned with the coat of arms across its chest, not to mention the silver clasp on his left shoulder that held his cloak in place. There were two contraptions strapped to his forearms, some strange metallic construction that seemed to end in a long barrel that ended up reaching only an inch or two past his wrists.
"What is the meaning of this nonsense?!" Dogberry demanded, his own yell rising to an impressive timbre in his anger. "You can't just waltz on in here and tell my paying customers to leave and expect to get away with it! I don't know who this Avaritia is but he can kiss my hairy arse for all I care! My patrons-"
"Enough, dwarf," the man snapped, coldly cutting him off. Much to Ricardo's surprise, Dogberry stopped talking. "Now tell me, who was it who injured the two soldiers who came here this morning?"
Ricardo felt a cold, hard dread settling in his stomach. Every nerve, every pore of his body was tense, ready to himself from whatever wrath the men were about to bring down on all of them. His hot breath clashing with the icy night air.
Dogberry glanced up at them for a long moment, hands on his hips, then he snorted. "It was me," he said without a hint of doubt. "I bested both of those bootlickers with my dwarven strength! How do you like that, you goat-humping waste of skin!"
The expression of the man was unreadable as he extended his arm, pointing the barrel that was attached right up to Dogberry's face. Before there was a chance for anyone to even raise an eyebrow, there was a blast of thunder...and Dogberry's head exploded in a cloud of blood and bone.
Regan shrieked, the sound piercing through the night like a knife.
He could feel it. The roar of blood, the fire building in his gut. An expression of untamed fury plastered across his face as he emerged out of the shadows of the tavern, eyes now a blazing orange. He could barely think, he could only see the scene playing over and over in his head, of Dogberry's butchered remains, the blood soaking the earth like a broken casket of scarlet wine. Blurred vision, a hissing in his ear like water boiling away on a hot pan. He didn't know when he had started running towards them, nor when he had started to scream like a rabid wolf. Kill, kill, kill, KILL!
Another blast of thunder rocketed through the still night air, where Ricardo's stomach began to heave with the weight of the man-made lightning bolt, causing him to snap out of his fury like a bird struck in mid-flight. It was all he could do to simply gasp, the agony radiating from his gut so potent that he lacked the strength to even cry out. Hot, hot blood poured from the wound, he could feel it dripping down his skin, soaking his clothes, drops even falling to the ground in front of him. Slowly, he pressed his hand to the injury, more out of instinct than anything. The pain seared the more the crimson water seeped.
The soldier looked on with a terrifying impassiveness. Completely different compared to the lackeys from earlier. Slowly, he started to circle around Ricardo, examining him as a man of science would some kind of strange, exotic animal. "It's amazing, isn't it? The wonders of technology." He spoke casually, as if he himself was one of the patrons in the Sheep and they were discussing the matter over Dogberry's best ale, all the while carefully stepping over the dwarf's body lying not three feet from them. Something crunched wetly under his boot. "Avaritia easily acquired it for his most able troops. The method is so simple it's genius. First, buy the imps' services, then bribe and blackmail the lizards into acquiring the resources, and finally sell the finished product to the dwarves for even more money. And on and on it continues, more money to the pile." He held out the cannon on his arm to show it in the light. He was moving in an ever-tightening spiral with Ricardo right in the center, and his arm was only a foot or so away from him. "I have no idea where his majesty acquired such designs in the first place, but I adore the results," he continued, watching in amusement as Ricardo sputtered, blood dripping down his chin. "Sadly for you, you won't be around to enjoy it for much longer. You need to be made an example of."
There was a small, choked sob from Regan, but thankfully in the heat of the moment no one really seemed to notice or care.
"All other races need to learn their place under our new Emperor," the soldier said with a chuckle. "Elves, dwarves, lizards, undead, imps, even lesser humans such as yourself." One hand reached out and with the back of his fingers, stroking Ricardo's cheek for a bare second. Even in the darkness, the contrast of the soldier's pale skin against Ricardo's darker tone was stark. "This is the world now."
It was as if the touch were the lone flame upon an ocean of oil. Ricardo's bloodstained hands shot up and grabbed the soldier's, wrenching the arm away from his head and pointing the barrel of the gun away. The soldier gave a sort of protesting yell, which died in a horrified choke as his gaze snapped down to the wound on Ricardo's stomach. It was no longer bleeding, rather a horrific smoke rising from where the bloody hole had been cauterised, leaving a terrible dark splotch behind. Ricardo's eyes were full of fire, glowing with a fierce light that reflected off the polished surface of the cannon as he forced the soldier's arm backwards, the barrel now pointing directly at the man's face just as he had done with Dogberry not some minutes ago. There was the sound of thunder, and then the soldier's head was gone.
Ricardo could hear shouts of alarm and the clanking of boots as the rest of the soldiers fell back in alarm. He let go of the corpse of the man, watching it fall right next to Dogberry's like some kind of morbid portrait. For a moment, he stared at the body of the dwarf. The fury rose, too vast and terrible to even comprehend, much less control. It yawned wide, swallowing up everything in him in its maw. He was drowning in it, suffocating.
A sound broke through the night, and he realised it was coming from him.
One of the soldiers moved, Ricardo leapt, the sound in his chest unleashing itself in a terrible, inhuman noise. His fists hit flesh, pummelling over and over until he could no longer recognise the face of the soldier under all of the red coating his knuckles. The others were yelling, drawing their swords, hacking away at him, but each time their blades cut his skin the wounds would immediately cauterise once again. Heat rolled on his tongue, liquid flame dripped from his mouth like spittle. Something was building up in his gut, something both born of his rage and yet utterly separate from it. When he opened his mouth to howl, a river of fire poured from the depths of his throat.
The six white figures turned to look at him, still holding their daggers plunged into the living corpse of the figure on the throne, except this time the figure was alive and twitching. A gurgling sound arose. The blood spreading across the shroud was as fresh and bright as a bowl of summer cherries.
The flames poured over the ground, lighting up the night in its terrible orange beauty, bringing a surreal clarity to the whole scene. Like the blood, the flames pooled outward from around dark-skinned figure, catching the soldiers around him in its grasp, and their screams added a grisly symphony to the air, undercut by Ricardo's senseless screaming at the figures that only he could see.
Dogberry and the soldier were the only ones silent, waiting for the flames to start consuming them as well.
Regan stumbled back from the wave of heat, barely able to see through her hysterical sobbing, but even then she couldn't escape the sight before her. In the midst of the inferno, so bright that she had to squint to see through it properly, she could see a shadow starting to emerge. Its shape was impossible to tell, but it was enormous, with wings stretched from its body into the heart of the sky.
Far in the distance, standing at the top of the rise, a older man's head snapped up as a speck of orange glowed in the distance. His hands tightened on his staff and he pulled his cloak closer about his body. "Ah," he breathed out, his voice triumphant. "At long last, I've found you..."