"May I... offer my greetings... to his Serene Ducal Majesty... Fathmu the Ninth."
Mikhail inclined his head in a slight bow, yet not so low that he broke eye contact with the Duke. Much like his distant ancestor, Fathmu IX was a great, hulking bear of a man, with a large and bushy beard. That, however, was where the similarities ended. His eyes were cold and dark, with none of the warmth of Fathmu the First. He held no compassion for those he deemed beneath his notice, and was notorious about striking those who displeased him.
Mikhail of the Dying Lands would not be the next.
The two were meeting in one of the tall towers of the Duke's Castle. Perhaps Fathmu had thought this eerie locale would put the merchant off his game, but he was sadly mistaken if that was the case. Even now, a couple of the vultures were rubbing against the raven-feathered merchant, preening his long black feathers.
Fathmu frowned. He seemed displeased, though from what Mikhail knew of the man, that was his default state. "Enough flattery, do you have it, yes or no?"
Rising to his full height, he pulled the necklace from within his cloak. "Yes. Your daughter... needs to wear... this... and she will... never gain an... ounce."
"Perfect," the Duke said, snapping his fingers. At his signal, one of his guards stepped forward and snatched the magical device from the merchant's hand. Mikhail gave an exasperated sigh, annoyed at the sheer lack of respect he was being shown.
"And... my payment?"
"Is my eternal friendship and that of my family not enough for you?"
"You have... no friends... Fathmu the Ninth... and Worst. I will take... my agreed upon... payment."
The Duke growled. "Insolent freak! Do you know who you're speaking to!?"
"My payment."
"Yes, yes. We shook on it. Of course, now that I have what I need, I wonder what use I have for you?" The cold, dead fish eyes of the Duke remained unchanging as his mouth twisted in a cruel grin. "Can't afford loose ends, either. Guards?"
At his command, the guards stepped forward, drawing their weapons. Mikhail's eye pieces focused, and his own rage was palpable. "To think... it would come... to this. Know this, Fathmu. You... shall be the last of your... wretched line. All shall sing of the fall... of Fathmu the Worst and Last. This I swear."
Rage overcame the hotblooded noble, and spit flew from his mouth as he shouted, "What are you fools waiting for!? Kill him already!"
The guards rushed towards the merchant, yet he made no move to defend himself. Instead, he spoke in an even tone. It echoed through the room clearly, even above the rattle of weapons and the shouting of Fathmu. Even though there was nary a wizard among them, the tang of magic hung heavily on every word he spoke.
"I am Mikhail of the Dying Lands. I am the one who walks All Worlds at All Times. I am the Purveyor of Curses, Truths, Lies, Hexes, and Curiosities. I survived a world Fated to Die, and I curse the Failed Spawn before me. You will die by my hands, your soul my plaything for eternity." As the swords of the Duke's guards fell upon him, he added:
"WE ALSO NOW OFFER FROGURT."
*** *** ***
A massive explosion rocked the quiet town of River's Bend, and the handful of people out at this early hour looked towards the castle in shock. A gout of flame and spray of shattered stone came from one of the high towers, peppering the buildings below with a hailstorm of rock. Before the first explosion could abate, a second and larger one came from the castle's courtyard, accompanied by screams of pain and shouts of alarm.
Doors slammed open, the local populace rudely shocked awake. Screams came from the houses where boulders crashed through thatched roofs, and guards were running everywhere. Confusion and fear reigned supreme, and sleep was a forlorn hope for all.
Well, almost all...
*** *** ***
"I can't believe you slept through it."
Tori blushed, swallowing her mouthful of waffle before answering. "W-well, I did. I was tired last night, okay?"
"I guess you did get to bed rather late," Emily snickered, stabbing a piece of fruit with her fork. Her own breakfast was a fair bit lighter then the Satyr's, consisting of oatmeal and fruit. Torgher's plate was stacked high with waffles, bacon, ham, sausages, and hash browns, with a double side of cinnamon toast. "And apparently forgot to eat yesterday."
"Just trying to jump start my progress," she happily replied, eating another forkful with a soft coo.
"Did he say how long before this all would kick in?"
"Not really, no. The potion will have kicked in by now, I'm sure, but I don't know when the necklace is going to start working. Mikhail said he had to finish his deal for the gaunt half first."
"Did he say who's buying it?"
"He did, but I can't tell you."
"Oh, come on. Please?"
"Sorry. Customer confidentiality, as Mikhail would say. And you were right; he's definitely a little weird."
"Yeah, he is. Really nice guy, though. And he has such amazing plumage." Emily swirled her spoon in her oatmeal a little, then shyly looked at Tori. "He, um... he didn't, you know... ASK about me, did he?"
"... seriously?"  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
| Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
<<-- Previous · Outline  · Recent Additions © Copyright 2025 hedkrakka (UN: hedkrakka at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Trampltrum has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work within this interactive story. Poster accepts all responsibility, legal and otherwise, for the content uploaded, submitted to and posted on Writing.Com. |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author