The Deathgripper's tusks hovered threateningly over the two paralyzed trappers laying frozen on the ground, staring at the Warlord draped in shadows. The scorpion-like dragons had struck as quickly as his fist had come down on the arm of his chair, dosing each of the two men with their venom.
"Not a single dragon?"
The Warlord stood up and walked to them until his deathly-thin frame loomed like a skeleton over them as though he were a giant. He spoke slowly, ensuring his words and his emphasis landed on them.
"Not one single dragon from the realms' most prolific dragon-trappers? And armed with men and provisions and traps and weapons which we provided to you along with generous payment." His voice remained ominously calm as he leaned over them. "You promised us. Fifty. Dragons. You sent word that you were returning. With fifty. Dragons."
"Grimmel," choked one of the trappers through the poison, the beginning of a plea for his life.
"Shhh, sh-sh-sh-shh," the Warlord hushed him, kneeling down and closing his fist around the man's shirt, lifting him to a sitting position so that the trapper could see his long, eerily colorless face.
Fist white-knuckled with his grip strength, the Warlord gestured to each of his Deathgrippers prowling agitatedly around the Warlords' meeting arena. "Do you know what they're called?"
The man could not respond.
"They're called Deathgrippers. Sometimes Dragon-killers. Do you know why they're called that?" No response again. "Because of their venom; the poison in their tails. On the first strike, you're paralyzed. This, you already know, my friend. But on the second strike, you die. After the third, your body becomes so toxic that when your friends and loved ones come to your body to mourn you, they become poisoned, too. It is with the help of these dragons that the Night Fury—nature's most fearsome beast, leveler of whole villages, maker of orphans and widows, child of lightning and Death—was hunted to extinction."
The Long Man paused, and his head tilted slightly while his dead eyes stared at the paralyzed trapper. "Did you think you would fare better than the Night Furies did, my friend? Against me? Did you think you could come to me, as a man who broke a very simple deal, misused and mismanaged all the support that the most powerful Warlords in the realms could give, and fled with his tail between his legs, and expect the same respect I gave to the most powerful of dragon-kind? How disappointing."
Blood trickled down from the Long Man's nose, and he took a moment to wipe it away with a cloth, making sure it was all away. And then he brought out a vial of clear liquid to show it to the trapper.
"This is the antidote to the paralysis. One is not technically needed, of course, as the venom will eventually wear off. Unfortunately, I do require explanation as to why so many resources were wasted on the two of you, and I am not a patient man. Explanation, my friend, and not excuses, which is what you have given me. So this vial of antidote will not go to you. You will be stung again, and you will die, and I will revive your partner to explain. Perhaps, with the right words, he will convince me to give him a second chance. Perhaps not. I suppose we shall see soon enough," he gestured to the other Warlords watching him, and they smirked with him.
The trapper's eyes rolled with fear, and he could not say anything, could not protest, could not fight back. The Long Man handed the vial up to a Warlord who had come up behind him and grabbed the still-paralyzed trapper by the face to ensure their eye contact. The other Warlord went to give the antidote to the other.
"Tell me, then, my friend. What friends, what loved ones will come to mourn your body? And how quickly would you like them to join you?" He looked at one of the Deathgrippers, whose eyes were locked onto the man's body. "Darling! Come here and finish what you started."
The Long Man surged to his feet and heaved the trapper as far as he could towards his dragon, who was on top of the man before his body had even come to rest. The other dragons swarmed to it and fought tusk-to-tusk to get to him.
Grimmel the Grisly turned on the second trapper without even watching the carnage. "Now you, my friend. Tell me who prevented you from bringing me my fifty dragons."