Chapter 8: Hail to You, Fellow Butcher!

Athkatla was a most peculiar city in the way that it was designed. Instead of having several large main roads and tunnels connecting each sector of the city to another, it made use of the back alleyways instead. Countless little passages between houses, weaving in and out and twisting around, leading one through a warren of corridors served as the primary means of traversing from one place to another. To travel through these alley's did not seem very wise, for they were cramped and shadowy, the sorts of places that muggers and thieves would lie in wait, pouncing upon someone unlucky enough to be unskilled at fighting, or not having a bodyguard.

Argon was not too worried about his safety. And probably because of his daunting form, if there had been any would-be robbers there, not a one of them dared step out to try and rob him. In a way, he wished that they at least attempted so that he might kill them, but also, such petty crooks were so far beneath him, stomping them into jelly would have been shameful, soiling himself with such milquetoasts.

As he went along, the homes and business that made up the majority of structures of the city began to grow noticeably more and more dilapidated and battered, a clear indication that he was closing in on the Slums. Naturally, there wasn't exactly a large sign that proclaims to travelers, "Now Entering: The Slums!" That would be in rather poor taste. Eventually, the numerous beggers in the streets, the voices of staggering drunks, the sunken-eyed merchants with broken dreams, and the packs of wild animals which roamed free were all signs of his arrival.

Pausing his stride, Argon looked around. A true slum in every respect, each necessary element to make it so was all there. A sullen forlorn atmosphere, an almost visible stench permeating the air, and the feelings of despair and hopelessness seemed to be oozing from every living creature. For the people who inhabited this repulsive place looked nearly half-dead, exhausted after days of working at their menial jobs, not to mention succumbing to the damning realization that they shall never escape this place, this miserable insight sapping all of their spirit. It was demoralizing and sorrowful to all who looked upon this place. Except for one.

Argon couldn't have been happier, finding this new atmosphere encouraging. There was so much misery around him; he could taste it. Chances were that he probably could have set up shop as an executioner for hire in this place. And it was a good bet that he would be plenty busy.

"Tempting," he mused, but a ray of sunlight in his eyes broke him free from that enticing vision. The sun was setting, creeping behind the crumpled rooftops, the sky a brilliant crimson, as if heralding its departure with a well-rehearsed fanfare. Night was coming with haste, as he had emerged from the dungeon after midday, and all of his amusements after his escape had held his attention for the remainder of the day. Now, with things winding down, it was time to stop.

"Guess I got to hole up somewhere…" Passing by him was a gnome, wearing tatters, swaying wildly as he walked.

"Hey gnome, where's a decent place to sleep around this dump?" The gnome did not seem to hear, merely going on with an almost drugged vacant expression. It was tempting to kill him for his disregarding demeanor, but leaving him to his worthless life was far more terrible than a gruesome death, even if it was a little less fun. Argon instead shrugged, and just kept walking.

After some wandering, he came across a larger than average tavern and inn. The Copper Coronet, a name that even Argon had heard of despite having never been to Amn before. A famous tavern; though infamous was probably closer to the truth; a dive sure enough, but always filled with all sorts of crazed characters and interesting tales. A place a man like Argon was sure to fit in. He was staring up at the sign when two men walked passed, one with a noticeable attitude.

"Out of my way, you there!" and some mercenary thug shoved passed Argon. Trotting at his heels was a halfling, dressed for stealth work.

"Calm down Cohrvale. Mr. F. don't like you killin' people in the streets." Not liking to be chastised by his small companion, the mercenary thug, Cohrvale most likely, gave him a scowl and a curled lip sneer.

"Shut your mouth dwarf. And as for you…" turning now to stare up at Argon, who was merely staring back, "Move aside!" It was really something; Argon was a head and a half taller than this imbecile, and three times the girth, dried blood across his armor and exposed skin, with a big sword attached to his waist, and this man had the lack of brains to act bossy with him. Not smart at all.

"I'm sorry," he apologized gently, leaning down, giving that devious smile of his, "Not quite sure I heard you. Perhaps you could open your mouth a bit wider this time…" Cohrvale seemed to have as much of a sense of humor as he had rational intelligence, for his beefy face grew red, obviously letting his undoubtedly short temper take control.

"That's it, now you're gonna get dead!"

The halfling cursed, pulling a short sword out, "Blasted fool! Can't you see he's armed?" Regardless, Cohrvale brought out a bastard sword, and made a wild attack. Argon seized the descending blade, snatching it with his bare hand, and held it off. Stunned was Cohrvale, his blow being repelled so easily. In one motion, Argon's free fist plowed into the goon's somewhat soggy midsection, making the chain mail he wore all but meaningless. Having all the air sucked from his body, Cohrvale lost his hold on his sword, and sank to his knees gasping.

Argon turned the sword around and casually stabbed the long point into his kneeling opponent's skull, piercing his head. There was a grating sound from behind, as the little attacker was trying desperately to cut through the enchanted armor. He really oughtn't to have done that. Remembering that there had been two, Argon pulled the plain sword free of the corpse, and quickly cleaved the halfling's head in twain. He fell dead and that was that.

"They just keep lining up to die. How nice of them." Rifling through their pockets yielding a surprisingly large quantity of gold, which Argon took with a salute. "Don't worry boys, I'll put this to very good use." With that, he turned and entered the much-famed Copper Coronet.

Inside was the precise atmosphere that one would expect a shady ill-famed place like that would have. A large crowded sitting room, with a massive hearth dominating the center where meat and other foods were slowing being cooked on a mammoth grill. All around this were tables with drunks and other patrons, none of which looked to remarkable, the typical surly lot, coming to submerge their woes in liquor, to temporarily wash away the grim that is their lives.

There was a staircase near the rear, guarded by one of many sentries posted throughout the place, looking beady-eyed and grumpy. Along one wall were several boxes and other stored items, and far off on the other end of the main room was the counter, where the innkeeper and bartender probably made their business transactions.

Scanning the occupants of the room, Argon was somewhat displeased that there were only a few warrior types in there, maybe three or four at best. Causing a ruckus with so few wasn't really worth it. Sure, he could kill the drunks, but that just wasn't as satisfying as murdering someone who can fight back. That's half the thrill right there.

Argon decided to start killing later, perhaps when more people came in. So, to quell his rising boredom, he wanted to see if there was anyone interesting to talk with in the place. Even he, on the rare occasion enjoyed just sitting down with an entertaining character, and just chew the fat with them. With any luck, they'd end with him getting some beautiful woman in the sack or even better perhaps, a fight.

There were a couple of stairs leading from the door down, and he descended, getting several observant looks as he passed. The wooden floor of the place seemed to quake with his steps. Not surprising. And also not surprising is that some moronic fool wanted to test his own strength by challenging him, boasting with out-of-line and brash comments.

"Looky 'ere boys," a half-drunken local came up, slurring his words, "Some huge gorilla dressed up for…hic…adventure. Ain't he a sight?" Looking around, Argon saw a squat ugly man, with an unkempt beard, and an aura of rankness that made him repellant even to the flies. Behind him were two goons, yucking it up, slapping the mouthy one on the back.

"Ha, you tell him Amalas!"

"Yah, you're the man Amalas!"

"I sure am. An' you, ya towerin' freak, you'll better watch ya step 'round 'ere, lest I have to teach you a lesson."

Normally acknowledging such petty hoodlums was beneath even average adventurers, thus they were far beneath Argon's station. Still, he disliked the leader and felt the desire to make him dead. Without even pausing, he reached out quick as you please, and wrapped his enormous hand around the drunken idiot's head, grasping it like a large stone, and lifted him off the ground. Amalas at once started screaming, kicking and thrashing. His two lackeys at once quit their cheering for their inebriated leader, and shrank back, fear at last emerging on their faces. A bit too late.

Argon's grip was incredible, enough to shatter a regular man's fingers in a routine handshake, and he was currently applying that amazing force to Amalas's head, who was hollering something awful. He kept pressing, harder and harder, until there came a light crack, followed by another, no doubt his puny skull beneath was beginning to buckle under the unrelenting pressure. Blood began to trickle out of his ears and out of his eyes.

"And…" Argon shrugged, and suddenly applied his absolute maximum gripping power in one surge of strength, "You're dead." Amalas's head caved in with a gut-turning display, blood and shards of bone came spilling to the floor, accompanied by the most nauseating of audio effects, a squelch and crunch. Argon released the ruined mass, and wiped his hand on the wooden wall to clean it of foreign matter, as he went on about his business. At this sight, many people at once fled.

Getting a room at a dump like this wouldn't be too hard; of course it wasn't going to be the best of accommodations. Still, with his awesome powers of persuasion, he could certainly get whatever he wanted here, no questions asked. First thing…talk with the innkeeper. Whoever that was. As he passed a nearby guard, he leaned over.

"Say, you mind pointing me in the direction of the boss around here?" The guards were normally a cantankerous lot, always pissed off and quick to anger, but after what the man had just witnessed this colossal giant do, there was no way in the nine hells he was going to risk his life on that gamble.

"Over there," he gulped, gestured to a hunched fellow sitting behind the bar, eyeing the occupants. "He owns the place. That's Lehtinan. He'll set you up."

"Thanks for that." Argon gave the man an evil stare, the guard growing even more terrified, withdrawing into his armor, teeth clacking together. Leaving the cowering sentry to his cowering, Argon approached the bar, looking at the host of this charming little place with scrutiny.

The owner Lehtinan was a queer looking man to say the least. Very narrow faced, with slit pale blue watery eyes, tight thin lips, a long beakish nose, and a slender pale frame. His crop of hair was light but was short, looking to be the sort guy that couldn't grow facial hair all that well. Not only that, but he seemed to be having a bit of a twitch problem. Not a nervous twitch, more like just an occasional spasm would course throughout his body.

And it was just eerie the way he would follow you with those nasty eyes of his, as was the way he talked. It was almost as if he had an incredible talent for salivating constantly, for every few moments between words, he would have to pause, and make these weird sucking and grunting noises to swallow down the excess spit. Vile.

"Well…hmm…hello. I can't ever recall seeing your…hmm…face in here before. Strangers aren't exactly…hurrm…welcome in these parts." Argon was easily three spans taller as he looked down at him.

"Not to be rude, but has anyone ever told you that you are a seriously creepy bastard?" Despite the unfavorable remark, Lehtinan strangely smiled, and shrugged.
"I've heard such things…humm…before. Some people are a little…hurrrmm…put out by my manner."

"Clearly. Anyway, you said strangers aren't welcome here…What about rich strangers?" Argon pulled out the money he had stolen from the two thugs outside the Coronet. Lehtinan inhaled through his nose in a hissing whisper, squinting at the flashes of gold. This was followed by a sickly smile.

"Hurmm…Coin is…always…welcome. You will find the Copper Coronet able to fulfill you needs; whether drink, rest, or other sorts…of entertainment…hurrrm."

"Hmm, I do believe you have raised my curiosity somewhat…What entertainment are you referring to, might I inquire?"

"Oh…hueem…one is always able to provide entertainment…hurrm…Things like companionship perhaps, or gambling on battles, and…other things."

"And how does one go about obtaining these…services? Care to point the way?" Lehtinan, despite being a freaky nutjob, wasn't an idiot. He knew better than to let just anyone into his backrooms, as his operations wouldn't be what could be called…legal. Letting the wrong person into the back could have some rather nasty repercussions. But this hulking behemoth didn't look or smell like trouble. At least in that particular way. And the gold he had flashed was a sizable amount indeed…

"Hurrrm…hurrrmmm…Very well. You look like one who might…appreciate…such entertainment's. There is more to my little place than meets the eye."

"Figures…"

"Just speak to the men at the doors, and they will let you through. Please…enjoy yourself."

"I intend to." With that, the somewhat disturbing conversation ended. Argon didn't bring up the subject that he was probably going to leave without paying for any of that…entertainment, and probably kill the repulsive little prick as well, but for good reason obviously. That would have been bad manners.

Before he went into the backrooms for a little look, he wanted a drink. As he was heading towards the bar, a loud hearty voice caught his ear.

"Drink hail," it thundered, "Wassail for all!" Looking behind, Argon saw no one…At least until he glanced down. There, at his feet stood a dwarf, wearing dark armor, a helm, and with two nasty looking serrated battle-axes at his side. A dark silver beard poured down his face, soaked with slopped ale and booze, and he had a fair amount of dark maroon stains all across his attire, much like Argon.

"I be curious friend," the dwarf went on, now that he had the giants attention, "Ye look to be a mite finer warrior than most others occupying this rat's nest. Tell me lad, were ye the one who smashed that yak-faced dreg's head in?"

"That's me…"

"Aye! I thought so! I came over 'ere to congratulate ye on that! A fine piece of work it was, just crushin' his brains out with yer hand! Ye got the feel of a killer in ye, no doubt keeping undertakers in a brisk trade. 'Ave ye the courage and time fer a drink?"

This was rather unprecedented and refreshingly new for Argon. Not only was this dwarf inviting him for a drink, but someone was complementing him on his gory display. That was something unusual, and quite frankly Argon didn't know how to react to it. Most people would be terrified of his murdering habits, for clear reasons, but no one had dared stay around long enough to applaud him for it.

Now, as was his nature, he would normally kill anyone who talked to him, or at the very least make a mental note to come back and kill them later, but…he was being praised for murdering? And by the look on this dwarf's face, he too was one to cleave some heads. Not to mention that his surly but aggressively cheerful attitude was something that Argon happened to like. And he was being offered a drink.

"Why not," he answered giving the dwarf a grin, "I'll have a drink."

"Aye, now ye speakin' me language! Come on over 'ere an' we'll chat a spell! Bernard, ye fat-bloated sack o' vomit! Get yer lazy ass over 'ere and get us some drinks."

Another bartender, Bernard, a stubby bald and chunky man came huffing up with two mugs, them both being snatched out of his chubby hands by the thirsty men.

"Put in on me tab," the dwarf instructed and raised a fist, threatening the frightened tapster away.

"Befere I get any more friendly with ye," the dwarf leaned forward, wiping foam from his beard, "I trust ye ain't some bleedin' heart sissy coward, are ye?" A funny question, as just looking into those terrible black eyes was more than enough answer, but Argon never made things that easy.

"And if I am?"

"Well, then I'd be forced ta split yer head open, and splatter yer insides across the walls. I can't stand those weakling quiverin' jellyfish! They make me want to puke me guts out all over the place!"

"Ha, then it's a good thing for me, since I don't care to see dwarf vomit at the moment. In the department of good…you have…nothing…to fear from me."

"Aye, that be a relief. I had a good feelin' 'bout ye, but a dwarf can't be too careful these days…never know who will turn into a weeping pansy next!" Argon raised his glass.

"That is certainly the truth, my fellow killer." They toasted, and drank down the rest of their cups. After a series of belching, the dwarf reached a hand across the table.

"Aye, me name be Korgan, by the way. Korgan Bloodaxe, the craziest, fiercest an' most bloody executioner to ever come out of the ground. I've left mountain's of corpses behind me, leavin' the ground a pleasin' color of red. I've yet to meet the man who has killed more than I!" At this, from across the table, Argon smiled, and shook Korgan's very strong hand.

"You sound quite renowned…But I'm afraid I know of someone who has killed more. A lot more." The dwarf snorted.

"Me ass ye have! An' who might this mystery butcher be then?"

"You're looking at him."

"Oh aye," Korgan pressed, with clear cynicism in his words, "That so, is it? Then, that must mean that yer bleedin' famous all along the Sword Coast, an' up to Waterdeep then, if yer really as wicked as ye are sayin'. Ye must be a mighty man indeed. What name do ye go by, O Scary Murdering Bastard?" Now it was the Bhaalspawn's turn to extend his mammoth hand, with that almost fanged grin of his.

"Argon." At this, Korgan halted, and stopped his grinning. It was clear that he was thinking hard, and studying the man across from him. Argon's face was rueful, but he didn't look like he was blowing smoke.

"If what ye say be true…" Korgan paused, before bursting out laughing, slapping his knees, "Then I be in the company of a true master of killin'! Why, even I've heard tales of Argon the Terrible, being some famous homicidal maniac that kills anything he happens upon…Course, if that be true, then why haven't ye started anythin' in here? Save that fool's head ye crushed like a grapefruit…Why haven't ye killed me?"

"Simple." Argon leaned forward, the darkness in his eyes burning ever brighter. "I happen to like your disposition Korgan. The first cutthroat that I've met that actually complemented me on my techniques of killing. I suppose even one such as me has a bit of vanity. And take a look around the room if you will…" The dwarf did just that, craning his neck about.

"An' I'm lookin' fer what exactly?"

"Well, do you see anyone worth killing? All I see is a handful of gutless dregs, too drunk to even feel simple fear. There's nowhere near as much satisfaction in killing people if you can't relish in their screams. I'm waiting for this place to get more crowded before I start anything. The end result will be more stimulating."

"Aye, spoken like a true madman. I dare say that ye weren't lyin' 'bout who ye are. Imagine, me sittin' here drinkin' with one of the most famous murderer's in Faerun! Talk about me run o' good luck! An' if yer plannin' on causin' a ruckus, then I'll be right here when ye start the bloodshed, an' get me fair share of the killin'. I've been holed up here fer too long now, I ain't had a real fight in days. It be good ta bury me axe into somethin's head, an' watch it die."

"Spoken like a real butcher," Argon told him with that devious smile. In his head, he was feeling better and better. At last, someone who was like him, who wasn't squeamish about murder, someone who reveled in death. He was certainly growing to like Korgan more and more.

"Hey, I gots me an idea," Argon looked around, at Korgan who had a sly grin of his mouth. "Ye seem 'im over there aye?" Following his finger, he saw another man lingering near the wall, his gaze moving back and forth across the crowd. He was young, handsome, wearing a warrior's garb, but didn't look too much like a cutthroat or brigand.

Rather, he had a much more noble presence about him, dignified and fair. He stunk of a knight. Argon hated knights, the pompous goody-two-shoes had attempted to impede his campaigns of slaughter more than once. They were far tougher than the average scum, but far more fun to bring down. And he was bored after all…

"He's been in 'ere fer a couple of hours now, lookin' fer good honest men to join up with. Naturally, he an' I had nothin' to speak about, but I was just thinkin'…if yer bored, 'cause I know I am, he might be a way to have some fun, aye? Ye follow?"

"I do. Perhaps I should go have a talk with him? Why don't you come with me?"

"Aye, that be soundin' right. Ye gonna string him up, or gut him where he stands?" Argon rose from the table, drinking down the rest of his mug.

"You'll see."

He didn't directly approach the young knight, that would have been too obvious. For his little scheme that he had been cooking up required no actual killing, but the end results may yield a reward of great fun and value. After meandering near one of the doors that would lead to the inner workings of the shady Copper Coronet, Argon planned on passing in front of his quarry, not actually making eye contact, and see if the bait was taken. It was. As he passed, the man perked up, and took a cautious step out.

"Stranger," he called, having a bizarre over-the-top sort of accent. "A moment if you would. I am Anomen, warrior priest of Helm, and I have been seeking the company of good and honorable men to join. Unfortunately, this wretched pit of corruption is lacking such noble qualities. You seem to have the air about you of one who is capable of handling himself. Might I inquire your name?"

Argon had been prepared to make small talk, to spin his diabolical web, as he had a tendency to do at certain times, but there was something he hadn't taken into account. In which case, something happened to Argon that hadn't happened since he became the unholy terror that he was. He had actually found something really funny, causing him to laugh. And not just plain chuckling laugher, it was roaring and side-splitting, nearly on the verge of hysteria, pausing where he stood, even leaning on the wall, one hand bracing himself, as he just let it all out.

So loud and forceful it was that a good many stares were directed his way, including the baffled warrior priest, as well as the perplexed dwarf. It was a good long time before Argon finally managed to regain control. Though he hated to acknowledge it, but that gust of laughing had felt good. Marvelous in fact. Not since his days of being a good boy had he had the pleasure of laughing. But all that aside, he found his voice once again, and asked a question, the subject of which had been responsible for that almost grotesque display.

"Tell me something…Where did you get that idiotic accent from? Reading too many romance novels?" That's what it was. That voice was just so crazy, so aristocratic and yet serious, it had been enough to make the stone in Argon crack a bit. Quite a voice. And at his question, it was now Korgan's turn to laugh, doubling up, his beard touching the floor, slapping the huge armored giant on the leg. The knight looked less than pleased at the insult.

"Insolence…to mock someone so openly is a contemptible habit, and I'd be thrashing some manner's into you this very moment, had I not learned to look past such trifle things. So again, I ask for your name? Will you give it, or will you not?" Argon had to exert a tremendous amount of willpower to hold back his snickering. He was tempted to pay this man to read a poster or some other piece of writing, just to listen to him squawk in that whisking voice of his. But, he had more fulfilling matters to attend to. He extended his hand.

"Argon," was his simple answer. Anomen extended his own hand, and met in a handshake, and looked ready to say something else. Then he froze, his eyes giving off that telltale sheen of panic and terror. The look of recognition. Following, his face paled, loosing all color, and there was a noticeable shake in his stance. He looked up into the dark eyes staring back down at him, and realized that his hand was being enveloped. He pulled free, and leapt back a step or two, his other hand clumsily searching for the handle of the mace at his belt.

"You…" he stammered, trying to swallow in order to continue, "You are…the…the…Are you? The one who…"

"I am."

"Villain! Contemptible swine! You openly admit your guilt! The very thought of the possibility of extending friendship to you is…is…You are fortunate I do not have my god smite you here and now for your sinister crimes, vile abomination!" Argon grinned, and glanced back at Korgan, giving his an expression of mock dismay.

"You see this?" he asked lightly, ignoring Anomen's self-righteous bluster, "I am the nice guy and give him my name, and what does he do? He acts hostile. Korgan, does that seem very friendly to you?" The dwarf gave a grin

"Nay, it seem a bit harsh, it ye be askin' me! Have ye no shame, ye gutter-puke? Ye greasy paladin's act so high an' mighty with yer gods, but when it comes to the common man, ye don't got the manners to save yer life! I've skinned men alive fer such things!"

"You speak of villainy dwarf? You are no better! But you truly must be mad indeed to be traveling with one such as him! If you know of his deeds, then you surely know that he is not one to keep companions around him! You would do well to flee from both him, and from me! For now that I've sensed your filthy presence," he turned back to try and stare down the giant, "I will not rest until you are brought to justice for all those you have killed in your beastly unnatural life! This I swear before almighty Helm!"

Argon couldn't have been more pleased. He took a few lumbering steps forward, so that he was right next to the squire. The size difference was incredible, Argon was two spans taller. Not to mention far more muscular and massive. Anomen, despite his defiant face, shrank back, being overpowered by the sheer magnitude of the sinister aura. Argon leaned down, covering Anomen with his own sprawling shadow.

"You're welcome to try little man. And whenever you feel you got the guts…I'll be more than happy to face you. So, if you don't intend to make a move, then I suggest you depart." He pointed towards the opposite end of the building.

"There's the door. See you later Anomen." And with that, Argon pulled back and turned away and went off. Anomen, freed at last, began to slink to the exit. The moment he felt safe, he bolted, nearly knocking the door down as he went. Argon didn't see it, but heard it, and chuckled again. He couldn't have asked for a better ending. Korgan however, was put out to say the least.

"What sort of show be that," he grumpily asked the Bhaalspawn, "Ye didn't even hurt him a tiny bit. I had been thinkin' that ye might at least wallop him across the room. What gives?" Argon had swiped some drunk's beverage during his return to his table and was pouring it down his gullet.

"Hmm, you may have a love of battle Korgan, but it is clear that you were not gifted with the power of foresight."

"An' what do ye mean by that?"

"Simple. Yes, I could have killed him, and that would have been satisfying. But what happened when I gave him my name?"

"Well, besides nearly jumpin' out of his pasty skin, he startin' jabberin' about makin' ye repent fer ye sins, an' all that rubbish. Why, what's that got to do with anything?"

"Think about it. He's not likely to just up and forget this encounter, just because he left. I have no doubt that he's on his way to his headquarters or searching for other paladins to inform them of my presence. I am one of the most wanted men on the Sword Coast after all, with an enormous open bounty on my head. They'll come back. And if they were really serious about trying to kill me, they'd know better than to send a few…They'd have send a large group of paladin's otherwise it would just be suicide. Meaning, by letting that blubbering sissy go, I will draw a far larger crowd of more powerful warriors to me for a real fight. In other words, more paladins blood for me to spill. And perhaps for you to as well, if you're up for it…"

The look in Korgan's eyes spoke for him. He kicked some intoxicated commoner from another table aside, grabbed his ale, and drank it down, belching afterwards. He was grinning, and looked to be on the verge of singing some dwarven battle song.

"By the Wyrm of Avarice, ye are a smart bastard! 'Tis a grand day when me axe gets to bite into the over-cured armor of these oh-so-superior holy warriors! Let us be off, I grow anxious for battle!"

"Take it easy…I'm holing up here tonight. We'll leave tomorrow."

"Ah, before we do anythin', there still be on matter that be botherin' me…Though he was gutless and nay too bright, he did have a point about how ye have had the reputation fer not keepin' company fer very long. Why should I be any different aye?"

"I've been wondering that myself, as a matter of fact. All I know is that the companions that I used to keep were on the side of good. Meaning, when I changed, they became horrified and revolted, and left. No one has dared to join me since. But I've never given any thought to having someone who was not only strong but also as evil as I am, join up with me. It's true that I don't need any help to murder, but it might be interesting…How about it?"

"It be soundin' like a right smart plan to me lad! Let's have another round o' drinks to be celebrating! Bernard, ye stubby ass crack-pot, get me some more ale over here!"