In the Flesh

“Okay, now that sounds alright, fo’ sure, fo’ sure. A pimp can fully admit.” Says the pimp who has the unenviable position of having to give his speech after Niall. “But when it comes to revitalizin’ the local economy, no one is better than yours truly!”

Sir Pimpington is handed the magical microphone by Niall, who smiles and scratches his neck after passing it over. Everyone is eager to see how the pimp lord will follow up that lofty speech, myself included.

“Pardon me. Is this seat taken?” A man deep says to my left.

I don’t so much as glance at him, telling him, “No. By all means.” a bit sarcastically as my eyes are glued on the larger-than-life man at the podium.

“How’s he going to follow up Mr. Hawkins, Master...?” Meri wonders aloud.

“Poorly, I imagine.” I scratch my chin and think back to Niall’s words. It’s not like I suddenly forgive him for our sordid personal history, but even I have to admit he did a hell of an excellent job attempting to mend that bridge of ours that he burned.

“It was a fairly good speech, I’ll admit.” The man on my left says. “Dangerous. But a good speech nonetheless.”

“Dangerous, how... so...?” Meri looks at our guest, and she drops her jaw, her face turning the color of chalk. She reaches for my sleeve to tug on it several times. “M-M-M-MASTER...?!”

I look to my left as well and see an absurd sight. This man is not what I’d call tall. I’d prefer the adjective ‘spindly’. Instead, he’s unnaturally long and skinny to the point where he seems like a skeleton. He has to be at least ten feet tall, made even taller by his lengthy black top hat.

He wears a classy, expensive-looking black suit that must have been completely tailored to his excessive needs. Rather than being ratty, covered in grime, or riddled with holes like most Dewhurstian fashion, this man looks like he’s never even heard the definition of dirt. His fancy suit is spotless, and between his gloved hands is an extremely elegant scepter.

Most troubling of all is the fact that our guest apparently lacks a face.

I lose all my formality and politeness as I gape at the gangly gentleman before me. “What in the absolute name of fuck-”

“My apologies, I do tend to have that effect on people.” He sighs somehow without lips or a mouth. The man pulls the brim of his top hat downwards to hide a bit more of his creepy non-face beneath the shadow.

“That’s... quite alright.” I cough awkwardly into my fist and try to look away and pretend this is normal.

“For the lady,” The tall stranger reaches into his coat pocket and produces a single red flower. He extends his long, stick-like arm out in front of my face and offers it to Meri.

“Eh...?” It takes Meri a moment to process this surreal situation but eventually, she declines the offering. “N-No, thank you. You’re um... too kind.”

“A pity.” The flower wilts away into nothing before our eyes, causing Meri to laugh uncomfortably. A shallow, low-level illusion, most likely. I can feel the tiniest bit of mana pressure in the air, but it’s gone just as soon as I sense it.

“Y’ALL MOTHERFUCKAS IN THE BACK GONNA LET A PIMP SPEAK HIS DAMN MIND OR WHAT?” Sir Pimpington screeches into the microphone, pointing at us with his pimp cane.

Our strange friend waves at Sir Pimpington calmly with one hand, and to my astonishment, the boisterous mayoral candidate shrinks back. “Aw shit, sorry, Bossman! Didn’t know that was you. We good, you gangly sonnuva bitch?”

Bossman? That would mean-

“All good.” The Duke of Dewhurst flashes an ok sign with his fingers at the man with the microphone. I begin to break out into a cold sweat as soon as I pick up on this implication. Meri does too, only she stands up, and the jewel on her buckler glows faintly red.

Her sword whips out from under the shield like a much larger version of one of those hidden blades used for assassination, and she timidly raises it to attack the tall, thin crimelord.

“Now now,” He begins to speak with an amused, almost friendly tone. “I’m not here to fight. I’m only here to see how the horses I have in this race fare. Call your little lover off.”

“...Meri. Sit.”

“M-Master... we can end this right now if... if I just...!!”

“I wouldn’t recommend that.” The Duke shakes his head disapprovingly. “I didn’t come here alone. You just can’t see the help. Should I ask Fleetfoot to reveal themself? Or perhaps Vulkir, my personal bodyguard. I don’t believe you’ve met.”

I turn and face the platform to see Niall staring at me with worry. The retired adventurer sweats nervously and looks back and forth between the Duke and me. I can see it in his eyes that he wants to come and help, but I shake my head and tell him not to. “Sit down, Meri.”

Meri struggles with her desire to cut down our enemy until finally, she sits down at my right side once again, but she noticeably doesn’t retract her buckler’s sword. Thank the Gods I didn’t come to the debate with Sam... this altercation would have ended worse if the rowdy Princess were here.

What can I do in this situation...? We’re surrounded on all sides, we’re in public, and the enemy just blatantly took the seat next to mine. I didn’t expect this move. As far as I can guess, my only option is to continue watching the ongoing political statements with Meri and the damned Duke of Dewhurst by my side.

“Right, so. Not sure what the fuck that was about,” Raepface clears his throat in a loud, exaggerated manner before looking to Sir Pimpington. “But I believe you were supposed to tell us what sort of platform you’re running on?”

“Bitch, what in the fuck is a platform, and why would this pimp be running on it?” The pimp rears back his hand as if he were about to slap the moderator like he were one of his bitches, but decides against it. “Oh, yeah. You just asking what I’mma do if I become mayor, right?”

“That is indeed the question,” Raepface confirms.

“Shit, dude, we gon’ be here all day. I had my bitches write a song about it, even! Songwriting bitch! Toss me that lyrical masterpiece!”

One of his many hoes in the audience, a slutty looking red-headed halfling, stands up and says, “I forgot it, Lord Pimpington!”

“Dumbass furry-footed HOE!” Sir Pimpington groans and shakes his head. “Why in the fuck does the songwriting bitch have to go and be the masochistic bitch at the same time? Stupid skank be forgetting shit left and right just so I whoop her ass, ya dig!?”

The pimp sighs, and several audience members nod their heads as if they understand this exact problem.

“Regardless, I was trying to say what I wanted to do to this town earlier. Many of you mothafuckas already happen to be patrons of my many Hoehouses, do you not?” He raises his hands, and the crowd goes wild with reverie as they celebrate prostitution. “Now that’s what we talkin’ bout, YEAH BABY! There IS a problem in Dewhurst, though, fo’ sure. I can’t ignore that. And what might that problem be? It’s simple. The problem is that there are still buildings in this town where women will refuse to have sex with you!”

An immense wave of booing erupts.

“I KNOW, RIGHT! IF YOU VOTE FOR ME, I’LL WORK ON THAT SHIT! Hell, I already AM, BITCHES! Thanks to my wonderful business relationship with the Shatterbrew clan, I’ve already begun work on constructing fifteen new Hoehouses! Do you know what this means...? YES! THERE IS NOW A BROTHEL ON EVERY. SINGLE. STREET OF DEWHURST!” Sir Pimpington throws his arms out and smiles to the crowd, revealing a shimmering golden set of teeth that sparkle amidst the dreary Dewhurstian light. “But we CAN’T stop now! Naw, vote for me, and I’ll keep adding to that number as soon as I can find a stable supply of bitches!”

The crowd claps for Sir Pimpington, but to my surprise, it’s not as loud as it was for Niall. At long last, the pimp hands his arcane tech microphone off to the Crystal Sage, who is tweaking in anticipation... I think. He might just be tweaking in general.

“Well, he knows how to put on a show if nothing else. I’m sorry that my misogynistic subordinate’s antics have caused you trouble, for what it’s worth.” The Duke pats me on the shoulder in a reassuring, friendly manner, and I struggle to keep my mind grounded.

Don’t stop thinking. If I stop thinking, I’ll lose to fear. I won’t let fear kill my mind just because the enemy boss is sitting right next to me, pretending he’s an old friend. That’s what he wants.

“Why are you really here?” I ask, folding my arms and looking at him from the side.

“I wasn’t lying. I wanted to see how the democratic process of this backward town plays out.”

“B-But why are you sitting next to us...? Are you trying to scare us...?” Meri narrows her brow, trying to look threatening as she leans over in her seat to look at the Duke better.

“Yes and no. You’re a minor nuisance at best, and I’d prefer to run you out of town rather than deal with you in an uglier manner.”

I look up at the podium briefly to see the Crystal Sage drooling into the microphone, pausing every few seconds to twitch and convulse. I don’t think he’ll start his speech anytime soon, so I turn towards the Duke.

“You’re wasting your time.”

The faceless man looks towards me and tilts his head as if from disappointment. “Clearly. I’m trying to send you a message, but you’re obstinate in refusing my attempt to threaten you.”

“I don’t back down easily.”

“Is that so?” He laughs. “You’re at a disadvantage here, you know. You always have been. I’m telling you right now, face to face, that if you continue to perform Guild activities in my town then you will face the consequences. Pack it up. Find another city and leave the province.”

“And... and what’s gonna stop us if we don’t?” The Shield Maiden does her best to stop herself from trembling. Despite her fear, she narrows her eyes, readying herself to summon courage the second she needs to.

“My men. Failing that, myself, if it comes down to it. I simply cannot have something as detestable as an Adventurer’s Guild running around solving people’s problems for spare coin.”

I furrow my brow and look him dead on. “I’d like to see you try. This town needs a Guild more than it needs someone like you.”

“Is that so? Last I remember, your Guild helped lead this town to the state it’s currently in. Too much of a good thing only inspires laziness in others. In a way, I should be grateful to you for creating the opportunity for someone such as me to step in and assert my control.” The Duke of Dewhurst leans in several inches from my face and cups his chin in his hand, looking at me with his featureless face.

“You can thank me by turning yourself in,” I spit back. “Save us the trouble of having to bring you down ourselves.”

I know he isn’t physically doing so, but for some reason, I get a distinct impression that the Duke is grinning. “An amusing suggestion,” He laughs. “Just know that Fleetfoot’s attempt on your life was a rogue act on their part- pardon the pun- but if you continue your troublesome activities in an attempt to ‘clean up the town’ then the next confrontation we have will be the last.”

“Are you really afraid of a small-time Guild like mine?”

“Everything I do is to one day dismantle the corrupt, uncaring institution you represent. To accomplish this, I need gold. You’ve already robbed me of an entire steezweed field, and I won’t suffer you to rob me of anything more. Guilds solve problems, while neer-do-wells like me profit from causing problems. We cancel each other out.”

“There’s just one thing I don’t understand, then...” Asking this question is dangerous, but I need all the intel I can get. I press on. “Why are you here? Why not just kill me when I’m at your mercy?”

“Would you rather I get it over with?” He tilts his head with empty curiosity before stifling a laugh. “That was a joke, worry not. The truth is that your grandfather was a flawed man... but he was also the last of a dying breed. You remind me of him. I’d like to at least give you the chance to capitalize on my nostalgia before I’m forced to reunite the two of you.”

With a weary sigh, the unnaturally tall man stands up out of his seat and clasps his white-gloved hand around the handle of his cane. He turns to leave and taps the head of his scepter with his fingertip several times, which summons a large, bulky Gnoll wearing a combination of scrappy-looking armor and a butler’s suit. “I’m growing dreadfully tired of this inquisition. Since my friend over there on the podium hasn’t snapped out of his latest binge yet, my interest in continuing this conversation has dwindled to nothing. Vulkir?”

“W-Wait a minute, you can’t just leave!” Meri stands up to show off her bravery, but the beastly Gnoll moves in and snarls at her. He contorts his hyena-like face and bears his many razor-sharp fangs. She doesn’t back off, but the threatening monster sends a clear message.

Vulkir then hands the Duke of Dewhurst a clipboard, which he begins to read and flip through. “Mmm. Excellent. Everything seems to be going according to plan, yes. Oh. One last word of warning before I leave you, Guild Master. The more people you allow yourself to love, the more chances there are to break you.”

These horrifying words haunt me as the Duke of Dewhurst leisurely strolls away from the crowd and into the nearest alleyway. Step by step, he disappears into its narrow, dingy darkness while his Gnoll butler follows at his heels like a devoted dog.

Simultaneously, up on the podium, the Crystal Sage snaps out of his overdose. He wipes the disgusting spittle from his lips and grips the microphone tight with his emaciated, veiny hands. “An excellent question. I will now answer it.” He announces about ten minutes too late.