One of the few constants about living with pirates was that when a crew has gold, a majority of it is to be spent in taverns. Another constant was that-under no circumstances-was Gangrel to be invited to these almost nightly drinking parties. That didn't bother the Mad King-who in their right mind would want to be in the same room as an entire crew of drunken idiots?-but it was different to be deliberately left out instead of choosing not to go.
Every afternoon, without fail, the crew would walk off the gangplank and leave him alone to nothing but his thoughts and his work. With no one around to take his frustrations out on, Gangrel grew more and more dangerous as time passed. And when the crew came back-either late at night or early in the morning, all of them in a drunken stupor-the traps he'd spent hours setting up were triggered.
Gangrel's quiet vengeance on the crew was more devious than any of the Pirates had been prepared for: life on the ship became miserable as personal items mysteriously went missing, messages were delivered wrong, the food tasted terrible, and no one could find the person-or persons-responsible to deliver revenge.
Zanth was furious, of course: no one was allowed to cause trouble without his permission; whomever caused this chaos would be beaten within an inch of his life. But no one would confess, and the perpetrator could not be found.
As the brigands scratched their heads in bewilderment and rage, none of them noticed the Maggot cackling to himself in the shadows.
As much fun as it was to wreak havoc among the pirate crew, Gangrel knew it was time to finish his work. After months of setup, his final move was ready to be played. All that he needed was to move into position. Then it would be finished, no regrets, no shame, no suffering.
It was evening when Zanth and his crew arrived in town, ready for a night of revelry. Their plans were shattered, however, when the Tavern's owner wouldn't let them inside. Apparently, someone had let spill who the Dread Pirates really were.
"I've been wondering about you lot for some time," the barkeep said as he shut the door. "I will tell you this once: I don't allow lawbreakers into my tavern. Go find someone who'll be willing to take in scum like you."
"Who told ye?!" Zanth demanded. No answer came from the closed door, but an unfamiliar laugh sounded behind them. As one, Captain and crew turned to see the Maggot himself leaning casually against the stone wall of another building.
"What are ye doin' here, Maggot?!" Zanth burst. "I told ye to stay an' look after the ship!"
"What, and miss out on seeing the big reveal?" Gangrel snickered. "I've put too much time and effort into my revenge to just sit back and miss watching the long-awaited climax."
"What are ye talkin' about?" the pirate captain asked. He was answered by another laugh.
"I knew the crew were a bumbling lot of idiots, but I never thought you would be numbered among them, Captain. It should be obvious, but I will pity you and spell it out: no one else in you dastard crew is clever enough to cause so much chaos on your ship and stay anonymous. I am the troublemaker you've been looking for."
The Mad King grinned evilly as he watched the his revelation slowly dawn on the faces of the men whom had abused him for so long: their expressions slowly changed from surprised to angry as they understood properly what had happened. It brought Gangrel a strange sense of relief to be recognized for his deeds at last, more like how it used to be.
How it should be.
"I'll whip ye raw fer this," Zanth growled, advancing with clenched fists.
"I welcome it." Gangrel straightened up and unsheathed the steel sword he'd brought with him, stopping the other man cold. "What's wrong? Oh, that's right, you left all your weapons back on the ship. Honestly, could you be any stupider?"
Zanth's face turned bright red as he wrestled with the overpowering need to punish the Maggot for his audacity, halted only by the presence of the shining steel weapon. Each of the men had seen Gangrel on the battlefield: if he wanted them dead, they would be.
"Call me what ye want," Zanth growled, out of options. "But yer a blasted coward fer facin' me when ye know I be unarmed. Better a fool than a craven dastard. Ye've go no honor."
"Who needs 'honor' when victory only comes through work and treachery?" Gangrel sneered, stepping closer to his captain, deadly blade gleaming orange in the light of sunset. "Only a weakling would rely on such fairy tales as 'honor' and 'nobility'."
Despite his scathing words, Gangrel tossed the steel sword away, the sound of metal striking stone echoing in the strained silence. Zanth watched the blade as fell, unprepared for the uppercut that struck him under the jaw a second later. As the shorter man fell to his knees, Gangrel seized him by the hair and hurled him away. Zanth slammed into the stone wall of a building and collapsed.
Gangrel's cruel smile was gone. He was disgusted as he watched the man he'd slaved under struggle even to stand. All that time, all that work, wasted on a man who couldn't live without someone to do everything for him.
"I cannot act as though you are my superior any longer, Zanth. That is a foolish notion that should have never even been conceived, and now, you will pay for it."
None of the crew dared intervene: the initial argument had taken a turn, and was now a battle of ranking. As captain, Zanth expected unwavering loyalty from his men, and now the Maggot-the lowest of them all-was challenging that order. If Zanth lost the fight, he would most certainly be killed, and the Dread Pirates would have a new Captain to answer to. That is, if the Maggot survived the wrath of the crew.
Gangrel strode over his Captain, tense and ready. Zanth was not, still blinking stars out of his vision. The sardonic smirk returned as the Mad King saw the easiness of it all.
The Pirate Captain would die. Enraged at his death, the crew would attack. Gangrel would not defend himself. The death he had avoided on the border wastes would come. Nothing could stop him now.
Years of experience followed him as Gangrel seized Zanth by the throat and pinned him to the stone wall. The action brought back memories of dozens of similar executions. The only thing missing was the pleading for mercy.
"Who's the maggot now?" Gangrel breathed, slipping his dagger free of it's sheath. He pressed the steel blade to the other man's throat, savoring the moment. Then, as he drew the knife back to deliver the final blow, something occurred to him, something he never before thought: almost every time he had done this before-killed a man in cold blood-it hadn't been the man in question who had begged for deliverance, but rather the family that stood behind him. The mothers, sisters, wives and children, who begged that their loved one be spared, and who wept when the blood fell anyway.
For the first time, he heard those cries. Gangrel heard the screams of women and the sobs of children as he stole a precious life away. He relived every murder he'd ever committed with agony, taking heed to the suffering he'd brought upon so many. Oh gods.
Zanth was more surprised than anyone when the red-haired man suddenly released him, staring at nothing with a look of horror on his face. Then his knees failed him and he collapsed to the ground. Zanth watched as his crewman lay petrified on the ground. He scowled and spat on him.
"Yer the maggot," he growled. "Always will be."
Gangrel didn't care; tears collected in his eyes as he stared at nothing in particular, feeling immense guilt well up inside him for the first time.
How many families did I rip apart? he wondered. How many have suffered-and died-by my hand. Oh gods, gods no. I-I didn't set out to do this. What happened? Where did I lose my way? Gods. If only I could take it back...
The sunset turned the world red, making the blood on Gangrel's hands clearly visible. He didn't care anymore: he was well and truly broken. What did it matter if he was a slave for the rest of his miserable existence? So many had lost their lives in the name of his vain conquest. A thousand ghosts that would follow him to his grave. As darkness settled, the Mad King had only one thought:
This isn't what I wanted.