FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

*****

Chapter Twenty Eight

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Lord Asterbury, the All Knowing Urd'thin, lay sprawled upon his belly atop the large, rounded oak table set in the council chamber of his newest headquarters. Charts, maps, and hand drawn pictures were scattered across the wooden surface. He kicked his bare feet in the air, studying a map of the area. Between the vellum, something gold peeked out at him. Asterbury pushed the papers aside. An image of a golden fish decorated the center of the table.

"That is the worst emblem for a village." He glanced at Rekrek, one his hench-lizards, standing nearby. "Don't you agree?"

Rekrek glanced over at the table, powerful green-scaled arms folded over his bone-hewn armor. "Yeah, boss. What is this, fish village?"

Asterbury smirked. "Quite." He crooked his fingers at the va'chaak. "Knife."

Rekrek pulled a knife from a belt strap, and passed it to the urd'thin. Asterbury peered at it. The blade was curved and dark, well forged for a simple people, but not what he was after. He handed it back to the lizard, then pointed at the corner desk. He'd tossed his elegant purple cloak and a few other belongings onto it earlier.

"The girl's knife. Seems more appropriate for a bit of council defilement."

The va'chaak fetched Mirelle's knife from where it sat alongside several old books, and scrolls of rolled vellum. He brought it to Asterbury. The urd'thin sat up, thanked him, then took the blade and flipped it into the air. He caught it by the sharp edge, then tossed up again and caught it by the handle. Asterbury stared at the long knife.

"What do you think, Councilwoman Mirelle?" Asterbury turned the knife over in his hands. "Fancy a bit of vandalism?"

Asterbury waggled the knife at himself, raising his voice as high as he could. "I'll not tolerate your disrespect! I'm going to kick you in the balls!"

"Now, now, Councilwoman." Asterbury shook his finger at the knife. "That's hardly council-appropriate decorum."

"That's what I've been telling her for years!"

Asterbury shot a glare at the bloodied form crumpled in a corner. An older man slumped against the wall. Blood from his rent throat stained the front of his dark robe. His tongue protruded from his mouth, and his eyes, half open, stared at Asterbury.

Lord Asterbury waggled the knife at him. "No one asked for your opinions, Councilman Dead Asshole!"

He turned the knife back towards himself, adopting his shrill Mirelle impression again. "Don't you talk to my friends that way, you mangy rodent!"

"Now, Mirelle." Asterbury splayed his large gray ears, admonishing her. "That's racist."

"Why do you think we hired her?" He adopted his gruff councilman voice again. "We're all big racists around here! That's what we Men in Robes are all about!"

"Not me!" The urd'thin wiggled the knife. "I'm not racist! And I'm not a man! Why, you're sexist, that's what you are! I should kick _you_in the balls!"

Lord Asterbury pinned his ears back. "That's your solution to everything, Mirelle."

"Try some boots." The va'chaak spoke up, a toothy grin on his green and gray snout.

The urd'thin sat up onto his knees, glancing at his minion. "What's that, now?"

"Boots." The lizard's grin widened. "You should use a pair of boots for Mirelle. Fits her better than a knife."

Asterbury cackled, his ears perked. "That's pretty good! Her stabbing victim may disagree, but that's pretty good. Anyway, Councilwoman." Asterbury glared at the knife, grasping it in both hands. "You're outvoted! Vandalism it is!"

With a gleeful yowl, Asterbury plunged the knife into the center of the golden fish. The blade bit deep into the wood. Asterbury twisted it, wrenched it, and soon broke free a section of gold-embossed oak. He plucked it off the table, inspected it, and then tossed it at the dead man in the corner.

"Here, little keepsake for you."

"How dare you defile our sacred emblem." Asterbury took up his grumpy old man voice again. "You there! Lizard! Come here at once and move my arm so I can shake my finger at this rodent."

When the va'chaak gave him a confused look, Asterbury gestured at the dead man with his knife. Hesitant, the va'chaak walked across the room, and crouched down near the body. He looked at Asterbury again for confirmation, his little frills reddened. Asterbury circled the knife in the air, wondering why the lizard wouldn't just get on with it. Rekrek grasped the dead man's arm, now stiff, and wrenched up it. Something cracked, and the lizard scrunched his muzzle.

"I shake my finger at thee, sir!"

The lizard shook the man's arm. His whole hand wobbled.

"Shaking your finger?" Asterbury cocked his head, one ear flattened and the other perked. "Looks more like you're waving hello! Well hello to you too, you dead asshole!" Cackling, Asterbury jerked his thumb towards one of several wide windows in the council chamber. "Toss him out the window, I'm tired of the way he looks at me."

Rekrek hoisted up the dead man in the dark robe, and carried him towards the window. "Well, ya did kill him, boss."

"He had it coming!" Asterbury grit his teeth, snarling under his breath. "They all have it coming."

"No arguments here." Rekrek pushed the body through the window, and tipped it over until it vanished. A moment later there was a wet thump and a loud scream.

"Oooh, was someone down there?" Asterbury beamed as he cut a line around the ruined fish emblem.

"Yeah. Some old gran, looks like."

Asterbury's fur bristled, and he gave a low growl, muttering. "How many old grans can one terrible story have?"

"Oh no!" Another voice drifted through the window. "He's murdered Councilmen Marl!"

"Are you sure it's him?"

"I can tell by his robe!"

Asterbury grimaced, pinned back his ears, and held up a single finger. "Wait for it..."

"Me old gran made that robe!"

Asterbury snapped. "Told you!" He returned to his carving, cutting more lines in the wood all around the village emblem. "Speaking of, what of the other Men in Robes?"

"Two came forward, identified themselves in hopes of sparing the village. Arrested 'em." Rekrek scratched his muzzle. "Another fled. Think that's it for this town."

"That'd be four with Marl." Asterbury drummed his claw tips. "It's the right number for the village. Find the coward if you can. Have him stripped naked and done up in ribbons and, I dunno, paraded through the village or something."

Rekrek folded his arms again, smirking. "And the other two?"

"Find out what they know about the Men in Robes." Asterbury blinked, then tilted his head. "I mean, the other Men in Robes. From Mirelle's village. See if they know who they really are and all that."

"Can do, Boss." Rekrek turned for the door. Sunlight shining through the window glinted off copper bands around his green and gray tail.

Asterbury glanced over when the glinting caught his eye. "What are those, bracelets? Where'd you get those?"

"Oh, looted 'em from someone's old-" He snapped his jaws shut, flicking his tail. "Yanno. One of those old ladies."

"Indeed." Asterbury splayed his hand out on the table, jabbing the knife between his fingers in rapid succession. "You know, I've had a thought."

Rekrek turned back around, his yellow-gold eyes fixating on the blade that was little more than a blur around Asterbury's hand. "Shouldn't you...yanno, Boss, at least...look what you're doing when you do that?"

Asterbury tilted his head, moving the knife faster, marking the table with myriad dots and scars between every finger. He stared at the va'chaak. "Why?"

"Cause it creeps me out when you don't look. Yer gonna cut your damn fingers off."

"No, I'm not." Smiling, Asterbury swished his tail, not taking his eyes off the lizard. Oooh, he did so enjoy it when they got nervous. "So. My thought. You do want to hear it, don't you?"

"Sure, boss, but, I'm gonna look over there, alright?" Rekrek turned around, staring at the wall. The_taptaptapping_ of the knife against wood made his little frills twitch.

"Look wherever you like." Asterbury flipped the knife up into the air and splayed his other hand out. The knife landed point down, stuck in the wood between his index and middle finger. "Does this worthless little fish-smelling hovel have a public square? Somewhere I can address the various filthy peasants, stumbling drunkards, inept guards, and dare I say..." The urd'thin shuddered, his fur fluffing. "Old grans?"

"Yeah, boss." Rekrek pointed towards one of the windows. "This fort's got a balcony, overlooks a little square. S'where Aylaryl's takin' a nap, actually."

"Perfect!" Asterbury clapped his hands. "Then instead of having the Men in Robes interrogated, have them brought to the plaza, dressed appropriately. Then round up every obnoxious trope this little village has, and everyone else, and gather them there so I can speak to them. Make sure Aylaryl is ready to keep order."

Rekrek glanced over his shoulder, flicking his tail. "Will do, boss. Anything else?"

"Yes! Bring me my crayons."

The lizard blinked, baring a few teeth. He scratched around one of the straps of his bone armor. "Crayons?"

"Oh." Asterbury scrunched his muzzle, twisting the knife back and forth against the wood. "Not a word they use here, is it. Just fetch me the chart and some drawing implements." He set the knife aside, then crawled upon hands and knees across the table. He swatted maps and charts and books off the table and unto the floor. "And put the rest of this crap away!"

"Since when I am yer maid?" Rekrek grumbled, wandering around the table and picking up scrolls, maps, and books. He set a few of them onto the recessed shelves built into the walls of the old council chamber, then picked up a few more.

"Since about now." Asterbury crawled to the edge of the table, and when the Va'chaak bent over to pick up a leather-bound folder, Asterbury swatted him hard on the ass. "And you'd look adorable in a frilly skirt, too!"

Rekrek just grunted and straightened up. He smirked at the Urd'thin. "I'll see if I can find one." After he'd put everything back on the shelves, he walked to the desk and retrieved an ebony scroll case, along with several sheets of blank vellum, and a case filled with charcoal sticks. He set them on Asterbury's table, and walked for the door. "I'll let you know when everyone's ready."

"Thank you, Uncle Rekrek." Asterbury waved goodbye like an exuberant pup, grinning.

The lizard shook his head, chuckling under his breath. "Crazy mutt."

"I'm a noble, not a mutt!" Asterbury gave an exaggerate gasp of mock horror. He swept a hand over his beautiful and custom cut golden tunic and trousers. "Why, haven't you seen my clothes?" He cackled to himself, and then snatched his knife up off the table. "Now, where were we, Councilwoman Mirelle?"

He waggled the knife at himself. "I was furious at you, but now your charms have won me over, and I'm realized how fantastically sexy you truly are!"

He put a hand over his chest, smiling at the blade. "Why, that's quite flattering of you, Councilwoman. But I'm afraid I don't fraternize with the Men in Robes. Even when they are in fact, a woman."

"But you must!" His lifted his voice higher, bringing the knife up to his muzzle. "Ravage me, Asterbury! Take me now!"

Asterbury pulled his head back. "Ravage a knife? Even I'm not the crazy."

He waggled the dagger. "Then we're through! I'm running away with that nice spoon from the cutlery drawer."

Asterbury thrust an accusing finger at the knife. "I knew you were making eyes at that spoon! And saw the way he was looking back at you, from the bowl of porridge! Wait till he hears about your affair with the sharpening stone twins! But don't worry. I've got something else for you to ravage!"

With a gleeful cackle, Asterbury thrust the knife down into the table again. This time he cut lines in a furious pace, snarling to himself as he carved the surface all around the golden fish symbol. One line after another, and another, vertical and horizontal. More lines to connect them. Then he carved curves, cutting through the wood's surface with blade and thought. Around the village's fish emblem he carved an open book, with the ruined fish spread across the bared pages.

When the book was complete, Asterbury examined his work. Not his most beautiful defilement, but it would do. He poked his tongue out his gray-furred muzzle and went back to work, cutting and carving the tabletop. He dragged the knife across the surface in arching, curved lines. More and more of them, abstract at first but soon they took shape.

"Like a story birthed from nothingness." He growled to himself, his ears pinned. "Think they're all so wise." He cut more curved lines, connecting some of them. "Think they can forge order, but all they do is spread chaos. Ruin stories. I'll forge order from them."

Asterbury swept his hands over the image, clearing away the dust and splinters from his simple carving. Now the fish lay within the pages of a book, and the book itself lay within open hands, fingers curling around it as if in possession of whatever story lay within its pages. Asterbury scrunched his muzzle. A story about a fish.

"That sounds terrible." He tossed the knife away, and clasped his hands. "But point made, nonetheless. We know who really runs things, don't we." He tilted his head. "Yes, Asterbury, we sure do!" He snorted, snapping his jaws. "This is more fun with props." He snarled, and ran his fingers over the carving. "I'm coming for you, Men in Robes. Another tale to be liberated from your crushing grasp."

Asterbury fetched the box of charcoal sticks, and the ebony scroll case. He stretched himself out on his belly again, gray-furred toes wiggling in the air. He unscrewed the case, and with delicate care, eased out the old vellum chart from within in. As he unrolled it and smoothed it out upon the table, he glanced towards the door.

"Gavak!" He set the charcoal stick box at one corner of the vellum, and placed the scroll case on the opposite corner to hold it open. "Gavak, are you out there?"

The door opened, and Gavak walked inside. Gavak was a little taller than Rekrek, his scales mottled black and gray. He was out of his armor, and instead had dressed himself in a rather ill-fitting indigo tunic edged in silver. The va'chaak also wore a pair of very expensive looking pair of breeches he'd shorn off at the knees, and cut open at the back to fit his tail. Asterbury swiveled his ears forward, looking him over.

"Done a bit of looting, have we?"

"Yeah." Gavak pivoted around, showing off his new clothes. The back of his breeches were tied around his tail with a cord from someone's curtains. "Whatcha think?"

"Nice! Breeches are a bit tight though." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I can see where your bits are."

Gavak glanced down at himself, cocking his head. "Eh?"

Asterbury waved his fingers. "Don't worry about it, it'll make the humans jealous. How's your chest? And your hand?"

Gavak's muzzle twisted in pained memory. He gazed at his hand a moment, then turned it over. He rubbed his chest where Mirelle had stabbed him. "Feel fine, Boss. Thanks."

"Least I could do. So no lingering pain?"

"Nah, it's..." He flexed his fingers in the air. "It's like it never happened."

"Because it didn't." Asterbury opened the charcoal box and selected a medium sized stick. "At least as far as your body is concerned. I just made a little change in the story." He ran a single finger along the charcoal stick, contemplating its very essence. The charcoal was blue. A wave of color followed his touch, turning the utensil from gray to blue. "As if you were never injured at all."

"Uh huh." Gavak scratched at his chest, where the wound had been. "Thinkin' about it makes me..."

"Then don't think about it."

"Yeah, alright. How about you? Why aren't you gonna fix..." The va'chaak made a gesture, dragging claws across his muzzle. "I mean, doesn't it hurt?"

Suddenly the freshly stitched wounds across Asterbury's face throbbed all at once. He winced, pinning his ears. "It does now that you've reminded me."

"Oh." Gavak gulped, his tail twitching as he looked down at his own clawed feet. "S-sorry boss."

"Think nothing of it." Asterbury probed a few of the stitches in his cheek, wincing as the touch made them hurt worse. "I'm keeping them because they're a reminder to take him far more seriously from now on." He set his hand down, grinning. "Plus, chicks dig scars! And so do men!"

The lizard gave a growling laugh, and flashed him a fang-filled grin. "Speakin' of which, there's some girls in the village, and I was gonna ask if I could have some time off to-"

"Keep your dagger sheathed, Gavak, we've important things to do." Asterbury set the blue charcoal stick down, and fetched another. He rolled it between his fingers. The charcoal was red. The stick turned gray to crimson. "And hands off the locals, anyway. Unless they're not only clearly interested, but have given explicit invitations. In which case, wear them out!" He cackled a moment, then snapped his jaws shut. "Unless it's a honeypot trap. And then...well you get the idea, hmm?"

"Uh...right." Gavak scratched at his muzzle, tilting his head. "So...what did ya need?"

"Hrrrrmmm?" Asterbury made a sound like an inquisitive canine.

"Ya didn't just call me in here to warn me off the local human girls, did ya?"

"Oh! No, of course not. But do take my advice to heart. If you catch a venereal disease I'm not sure I'll be willing to heal you." He clucked his tongue and flicked his ears back, moving right along before Gavak could reply. "I've sent Rekky off to gather up all the local peasant-tropes so I can do my cliché villain thing." He circled a charcoal stick in the air. "I'll be giving them a speech, of a sort, and I want everyone there. And your job..." He jabbed the stick at the lizard. "Is to find out if this village has any bards or minstrels or anyone else who can play an instrument or keep time on a drum. And then teach them my theme song. I want it played as I strut out onto the balcony."

Gavak murmured, shifting his weight back and forth. "Short time to teach a song."

"Then teach them the simplified version." He tapped the red charcoal stick against the table. "And tell them they'll get their hands chopped off if they screw it up, that ought to provide some motivation! Oh, and Gavak?"

"Yeah, boss?"

Asterbury growled, baring his fangs. "No lyrics."

Gavak ducked his head, a hint of a purple flush in his muzzle. "Right, boss. I'll get on it immediately."

As the lizard left the room, Asterbury made himself comfortable, surveying his chart. He ran his pads across the delicate vellum, smiling. An array of colored and shaded spheres covered the chart. Some were arranged in concentric circles, others in a line, or all alone. Many more sections of the chart were blank. Lines scribed in ink stretched between some of the spheres, connecting them to others across the chart. Little arrows pointed this way or that.

Asterbury picked up the red charcoal stick. He gazed it, rolled it back and forth in his fingers. Then, humming to himself and kicking his feet in time to the music in his head, Asterbury scribbled on the chart. He stretched his arm, and scrawled a large red X across one of those spheres. He scanned the vellum, counting up the other X's he had added in the past. Then he moved his attention to a different sphere. With the red stick, he scribbled that one out completely.

He traced an inked line with a single finger. His humming grew louder, the melody he hummed an old one, urgent and sometimes angry. He set the red stick down and picked up the blue one, than drew a few more arrows between several of the spheres. He scribbled a few quick notes in the margins. Then he drew a series of angry-looking frowny faces all around one of the spheres, near the center of the chart. Other frowny faces marked plenty more spheres scattered across the vellum. Red X's marked most of them. Once he'd drawn four new faces, he switched back to the red stick and scratched one out right away.

"Councilman Marl, your story has ended." Asterbury cackled to himself. "About damn time."

Asterbury moved the chart, and pulled one of the pieces of blank vellum in front of himself. He fetched a new charcoal stick, changed it to black, and began to draw. He quickly scrawled a new series of spheres across the page. The alignment was similar to the original chart, but there were fewer spheres in total, and with more blank spaces. Then he drew a single arrow from one sphere near the middle, to another, and another, and onwards through many more. He glanced at the original chart, scrunching his muzzle. He wrote down a few names and notes near the sphere where the arrow had ended.

Men in Robes - Present, controlling conquered lands. Protected by:

Revaramek - Reluctant Hero. Traveler? Works for:

Mirelle - Empowered heroine. Unknowingly serves Men in Robes.

Voices drifted in through the windows. Asterbury flicked and swiveled his ears. Rekrek was working fast. Either that or he'd spent far too long staring at that damn chart again. Asterbury circled the world 'traveler', and waved his hand across his charts. The vellum was scribed with ink, already dry. The fresh charcoal changed to dry ink. No sense smudging his latest alterations. He rolled the original chart back up, and eased it back into its ebony scroll case.

As he closed the case, his fingers brushed the old insignia engraved into the black wood. Asterbury turned it over. The emblem carved upon the case depicted an open book held in a pair of human hands. He ran a finger across the edge of the sculpted book, snarling to himself.

"We meet again, Storytellers." With a gleeful cackle, he snatched up the case, and hopped off the table. "And am I going to enjoy putting things right."

Asterbury padded to the desk where he'd arranged some of his more important possessions. He set the scroll case there, alongside a few old books with colorful covers. Each book had the same emblem from the scroll case stamped in gold on the spine, above the title. Asterbury ran his fingers across each book, then snatched up his purple cloak. He whirled around the room, flourishing his cloak as he tied it around his neck. He skidded across the floor, and hopped into his boots, tying them with a flick of his fingers.

Mirelle's dagger lay on the floor, near the door. Asterbury scooped it up. "I'm going to call you Mirelle Number Two." He splayed his ears, scrunching his muzzle. "No, that sounds terrible. We'll just go with Mirelle Two." The All Knowing Urd'thin turned to the door just before someone knocked on it.

Rekrek poked his green-scaled snout in. "They're ready for you, boss."

"I knew they would be! Right on time, Rekrek." Asterbury slipped the knife through his belt, and danced through the doorway. He skipped a few paces down the wooden hall. He stopped and glanced back at the lizard, his ears splayed. "Well?"

"Oh. Right. Sorry, Boss."

Rekrek fell into line behind the Urd'thin, and began to sing. Asterbury snorted. That was more like it. He'd spent ages teaching his minions those songs, those ancient melodies, the least they could do was sing it for him whenever he felt like dancing. The va'chaak's voice drew the others from their tasks, and as Asterbury danced and pirouetted down the hallway, the rest of them stepped from other rooms to fall in alongside him and add their voices to his music.

Asterbury turned to the stairwell. He ascended two steps, down one, up another, all the while conducting the music in his mind. Only, at long last, it wasn't just in his mind. No, no he had his friends to sing it for him. He twisted round on the stairs, conducting the va'chaak with his hands. He poked Gavak in his scaly belly, booped Rekrek's nose with a finger, dragged his hands down the wooden walls as the music reached a dramatic crescendo, bound up the stairs with the joyful melody that followed.

When he reached the upper floor, Asterbury half-danced, half-skipped down the fort's barren hallway. Not a very impressive place from the inside. Not even that impressive as a fortress, but it certainly did its job for simple fishing village. It was almost a shame they hadn't known he was coming. They might have put forth a better effort to defend themselves if they knew he'd come to wrest the story back out of their greedy grasp. At least Revaramek made things entertaining, even if the dragon had only blundered into defending the village.

Double doors carved with stylized fish at the end of the hallway lead to a wide balcony overlooking the fort's courtyard. Asterbury danced towards the doors, bobbing his head and swishing his tail in time to the lizards' song. As he neared the doors, they flew open. When Asterbury passed through the doorway, the wood twisted in on itself. The fish became smiling urd'thin faces.

Asterbury spun out onto the balcony. It was semi-circular, with a tall rail carved with intricate knot work. Below the balcony lay the fort's courtyard, with a tall wooden palisade around it. A gateway path led to the village beyond. Smoke still rose from some of the rubble where earlier Aylaryl had conducted negotiations with Revaramek on his behalf. A motley collection of dirty peasants, beggars, fishermen, assorted old ladies, and other obnoxious tropes were gathered in the court. A few more va'chaak roamed the edges of the crowd, keep watching. Aylaryl stood to the side of the square, glaring at a group of musicians.

The urd'thin took a running leap up onto the balcony rail. He thrust his hands into the air. "Greetings!" His voice echoed across the gathered crowd in the square below. He pirouetted atop the rail, flourishing his royal purple and gold cloak. "I am Lord Asterbury, the All Knowing Urd'thin! And I am your new lord and master!" He came to a stop, disappointed with the silence. He circled a finger in the air. "Music!"

Aylaryl flared her wings, and hissed at the musicians. Her purple scales glowed in the sun. The musicians all crowded around a single, poorly scribbled page of sheet music. After a moment's hesitation, they began to play, but their notes were off time, and off key. Alyaryl lowered her head, her ears pinned. She growled at them, and the music faltered.

"Don't mind the dragon!" Asterbury called down to them. "She'll only eat you if you screw up." He lowered his voice to a whisper, glancing back at Gavak. "One sheet of music?"

"Best I could do on short notice."

"Oh, never mind. They'll work on it for next time."

Asterbury snorted, turning his gaze back to the crowd below. He waved for the attention of one his hench-lizards. When the va'chaak glanced up, Asterbury made a cutting motion across his throat. The va'chaak yanked free a knife and grabbed the nearest musician by the hair. The man dropped his lute, screaming and struggling. The lizard yanked the man's head back to expose his throat, and lifted his knife.

Asterbury waved his hand, crying out. "No, don't kill him! Why would you...oh, right." He made the cutting motion across his throat again. "No, this time I just meant stop the music!"

The va'chaak shoved the lutist aside, and sheathed his dagger again. The man stumbled away, panting. He picked up his battered lute and hugged it to his chest with trembling arms. The other musicians all clutched their instruments, staring up at Asterbuy even as they tried to ease away from the dragon glowering at them.

Asterbury waved a finger at them from high above. "Now that's my theme song you're learning, and I expect you to get it right! It's a very important tune. We'll work on it tomorrow, get a few more sheets scribbled up for you. In the meantime!" He lifted his voice, calling out over the entire crowd. "Allow me to introduce myself!" He faltered. "Er...again! I am Lord Asterbury, the noblest of all nobles, the handsomest of all handsome...erm...nobles!" He posed heroically, and flourished his cape. "You may remember me from such exciting action scenes as the conquest of your town and the humiliation of your highly inept guards!"

"Yer dragon ruined me house!"

Asterbury grit his teeth, fur bristling in irritated anticipation.

"Me old gran made that house!"

"No she didn't!" The urd'thin snarled, stomping his boot against the carved railing. "No one's old gran ever made a house!"

"She weren't me old gran at the time." The man called back, stepping free of the crowd and gesturing at the village beyond the fort. "She were young, and fancied a fishermen. But she didn't want to be no housewife, or barmaid. She wanted to work with her hands, she did. So she studied carpentry, and engineering. I were but a wee lad at the time, but I remember it clear as-"

"NO!" Asterbury balled up his fists, roaring at the peasant. "No flashbacks about anyone's old gran! This story's getting convoluted enough, I'm gonna need a damn flow chart by the time it's done!" The urd'thin wiped flecks of spittle from his muzzle, then smoothed back his ears. "Furthermore, now that I'm in charge of your little village, let's make one thing clear. No more jokes about old grans!"

The peasants milled about, murmuring amongst each other.

"I mean it!" Asterbury glared at the crowd, his fangs bared.

"What about about me old nan?"

"Or my old da?"

"What about me young gran?"

Asterbury pinned his ears back, growling. "That's just stupid, there's no such thing as a young gran. A gran by her very nature is old-Aarrgh! Now you've got me doing it!" He slapped fingers against his palms, counting them off. "No nans, no das, and certainly no old grans! The next person who mentions what their old gran made is going to be executed!"

"Me old gran was executed!"

Asterbury's ears twitched. "Kill him."

The va'chaak advanced through the crowd towards the man in question, while other peasants raised their voice in his defense.

"Now that ain't right, he didn't mention nothin' bout what his old gran made."

"You've gotta be more specific!"

"You didn't say he couldn't mention she was executed! 'Ave a little sympathy for the bereaved!"

Asterbuy glanced back at Rekrek and Gavak. "You see, this is why I burn villages. I can't handle all these comedy trope semantic bantering sessions. It just..." He rubbed his head between his horns. "It gives me a headache."

Rekrek tilted his green-scaled head. "They do sorta have a point, though."

Asterbury gave a heavy sigh, flattening his ears. "Fine, fine." He raised his voice to the crowd again. "Don't kill him. Just...give him a good beating." The va'chaak dragged the obnoxious peasant off into a corner and started beating him, and Asterbury lifted his voice higher to command attention over the man's cries. "You see? I can be merciful, I can be benevolent!" He smirked at Rekrek, who didn't seem to catch the reference. Asterbury went on. "Case in point, I'm not having him executed." He spread his hands, indicating the village. "And I'm not burning down your town!"

"Ya burned down some of it!"

"If you keep up your witty peasant trope backtalk, I'm going to burn down the rest of it!" He stomped on the rail, hissing through sharp teeth, fur bristling. "Can't you see I'm trying to give my villainous speech?" He splayed an ear, muttering. "I hate comedies. I'd never get this kind of infuriating sass-mouth if we were in a proper fantasy novel." He cracked his knuckles, glancing at the dragon. "Alyaryl! Be a dear, and go around the side of the fort, bring what's left of Marl out here, then scare some sense into these babbling gits."

Aylaryl spread her vast purple wings, and leapt into the air. A single wing-beat carried her over the spiky palisade and buffeted the crowd with enough wind to knock people against one another. A few looked ready to run, and when Asterbury pointed them out, his va'chaak were there in an instant, baring their way with snarls, fangs, and steel. The dragon landed nearby with a thump. Asterbury's ears swiveled towards the sound, then he turned his head to follow her wings as she ascended again. The sunlight made her black mottling look like spots of shadow dappling her wings. Her dark purple colors faded to deep blue across her limbs, and in her paws she clutched the limp figure of a robed corpse.

"Why, if it isn't Councilman Marl!" Asterbury thrust his finger in the air as Aylaryl circled with Marl's body flopping about in her paws. His head lolled about, gaping throat exposed. "I'm afraid I found him hiding in the Council chambers, and then he and I had a bit of a disagreement about my future plans for this story." Asterbury yelled up to the dragon. "Aylaryl! Do your party trick!" He cheered as the dragon ascended higher. "Oh, you're going to love this, it's great!"

Aylaryl spun away from the fort, and hurled the man's corpse up into the air. The force of her throw tore the head clean from the wounded neck as the rest of the body hurtled towards the sky. As she wheeled about, she took a deep breath, and then blasted roiling flame against the flailing body. She tilted her head, following the former councilman with her fire to his apex. Then she dipped her wing and circled back as the burning corpse plummeted towards the ground. Screaming peasants scattered just before Marl hit the cobbled square with a wet slap and a spray of embers.

Asterbury cackled, hopping up and down on the rail, his cloak billowing behind him. "Oh, perfect, Aylaryl! You see, I told you it was great! I'd like to see your precious protagonist do that! Now!" Asterbury smoothed down his golden tunic. "The next person who blurts out some hastily cobbled witticism is going to help Aylaryl practice her parlor tricks. So you'd better all..."

He trailed off when he saw one of the va'chaak fetching Marl's head from the bushes it landed it. He gestured for it, and the Urd'thin tossed up the man's head, blood trailing behind it. The head landed on the balcony, and rolled to a stop near Rekrek's feet. Rekrek passed it to Asterbury, and the urd'thin grabbed it by the hair, holding it aloft.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Councilman Marl! Say a few words, Councilman!"

He grasped the bloodied chin, worked the stiff jaw up and down a few times. He deepened his voice to a stuffy, gruff timbre. "I'm Councilman Marl! I've come to steal you all from your stories because I don't like the way mine ended, and I think I'm more important than you!"

Asterbury gave a horrified gasp, placing a hand on his chest, leaving bloody fingerprints on his golden tunic. "Marl, what a horrible thing to say! And look, you've soiled my clothes!"

Once more he worked Marl's mouth with his hand. "Don't listen to this crazy rodent!"

"Now, Marl, that's racist."

"You can't believe a word he says! He's just making it up as he goes along!"

"Oh, please, Marl, I'm not the one writing the tale, I'm just the one setting right what all your meddling has ruined!"

"You can't listen to him! He's insane!"

"Yes, Marl, I am." Asterbury laughed, shaking the head by its hair. "Speaking of which, ooooh, I've always wanted to dropkick a severed head!"

Asterbury took a few quick steps along the curved balcony rail, dropped the head, and lashed out at it with his booted foot. He missed completely, and the head bounced off the rail onto the balcony again. Damn it, that wasn't as easy as it sounded. He waggled his fingers, and Gavak picked up the head, handing it back to him. Asterbury held the head by the hair, sized up his aim, and let it go. This time his boot caught the head squarely, and sent it flying into the courtyard below, where it landed amongst the squealing peasants.

"There, little souvenir for you. Now, let's get down to business. Bring forth..." Asterbury paused for dramatic emphasis, and then thrust his finger towards the far gate. "The Men in Robes!"

The crowd all turned towards the gate, but no one emerged from it. Asterbury waited a moment, then thrust his finger and cried out again. "The Men in Robes!"

Once more, no one entered through the gate. He glanced over his shoulder. Rekrek and Gavak both shrugged. The other va'chaak on the balcony all glanced back and forth at each other, but no one seemed to have any answers. Asterbury cleared his throat. He tapped his foot against the rail as the crowd murmured below.

The urd'thin put his hands around his muzzle, shouting. "The Men in Robes!"

"Sorry boss!" Someone finally called out a reply. Then, from the wrong gate on the left side of the square, a va'chaak with red and gold splotches against his pale green scales scrambled out, pulling on a rope. The rope in turn was tied to two old men in black robes, their hands bound. As the va'chaak dragged the men into the back of the square, he glanced up at Asterbury. "Had to take a leak!"

Asterbury ground his teeth. "Enchanting." He pivoted atop the balcony's rail, and once more thrust his finger at his life-long foes. "The Men in Robes!"

As the two men were dragged out into the square, Asterbury curled his fingers, squeezed his hands into fists until his dull claw tips dug into his soft palms. How many years now had he spent chasing the Men in Robes? How many times had he sought to right the wrongs they committed? Even at a distance, even after years of changes, he still recognized those robes. Black and hemmed with gold, with the insignia of...well, the insignias changed, but he knew what truth lay buried beneath their falsehoods. He knew who they really were, even when they themselves had forgotten.

Coils of ink and blood flowed from their hands. Red and black tendrils wound through the air, snaking around all the poor pawns assembled in the square. Larger lines rose from their heads, writhing and twisting together towards the sky. Connecting them to the story, and to the world beyond. The sky alone could not contain their influence, but he could. He was beyond the story now, beyond all stories. Someone had to stop them. Someone always had to stop them.

"Them's our councilmen!" The voice from an unnamed pawn sounded confused, frightened. No more witticisms, just fear for those they thought protected them.

"That's the lie they feed you, isn't it?" Asterbury's voice lowered, the glee gone from it, replaced only with menace and determination. He stepped off the balcony and plunged three stories to the ground. The cobblestone-covered earth bent and rippled beneath him, and he landed softly, as if upon a pillow. "But I know better. I know so much better."

Asterbury strode forward to the crowd, and they parted around him. "They are bound in ink and blood, and I can see the ties!" He waved his hand, and the flames still burning across Marl's body extinguished in an instant. He stepped over the corpse, glancing around, meeting confused gazes. "They feed you lies about kingdoms to the west, and armies of dragon slayers. They fill your heads with histories that don't exist to cover their crimes! They control you, and thusly, they control your stories. They don't want you to know the truth. But the truth is, the Men in Robes are nothing more than murderous, story-stealing colonists. Their stories have ended, and so they force themselves into another. Like parasites. And in so doing, they ruin more lives than they will ever save."

"What the hell are you babbling about, you nutty little varmint?" One of robed men strained at his ropes. His pale, pudgy face flushed beneath his shock of white hair. "You're crazy!"

"Yes, I am." Asterbury smiled, wrapping his fingers around the hilt of his knife. "But I'm also right. Now watch your tone, or Mirelle Two is going to have words with you." He tilted his head back, staring at both men. "I suppose I shouldn't expect you to know who you really are, when all they ever do is try to escape their own story. Do either of you know who I am?" Asterbury spread his hands out wide. "Why I'm here?"

"Because you're crazy, you little-"

That was as far as he got before Asterbury lashed out with Mirelle Two, and cut the man's throat open. Blood sprayed. The man gurgled, eyes bugging out as he dropped to his knees. He struggled to grasp at his rent throat with bound hands, blood gushing across his robe. Asterbury turned away from him, spreading his arms wide before the crowd. Blood dripped from his dagger.

His voice was a snarl, a furious truth no one else could ever truly understand. "We are all scribed on vellum! We are written in ink, and blood, stories once told by the gods! But the gods have fallen silent, and the Storytellers are in control!" He pointed his dagger at the remaining councilman, now wide-eyed and horrified. "Their vellum burned! Their world burned! Their story ended, and they blamed it on us!" He dragged bloodied fingers down the front of his shirt, his voice growing softer. "And they tried to make us fix it. Tried to make us change it."

Asterbury whirled on the last standing man in a robe. The other man kicked at the cobblestone as he writhed, and slowly died. Asterbury tilted his head. "You've no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

The terrified man shook his head.

"No, I should have suspected as much." Asterbury seized the man's robe in a bloodied hand, snarling at him. "You're not even worthy of my backstory if you don't know your own. But suffice it to say this." He leaned up on his tip toes, pressing his muzzle to the man's face. "Your oppression of this story ends here. Your oppression of this world's peoples ends now!" His voice lowered to a hissing whisper, his eyes glowing like burning ink. "You think you can deny me my story, deny the hero I should have been? You think you can re-write your own history in our blood?" He grabbed the man's throat, snarled at him, then let him go and stepped back.

"Let me tell you who I am!" Now, Asterbury's voice ran across the village, the sound of a hammer on an anvil, of thunder tearing through the clouds. "I am the crack in your sky that rains calamity upon your world! And for The Storytellers, who wrenched me from my tale, tore away the life I should have lived, I am only one thing. I am your story's end!" He gestured for Aylaryl, muttering under his breath as she moved through the crowd, knocking people aside. "You wanted a new ending, and now, I am the ending."

The robed man backed away, and Asterbury glanced at the nearby va'chaak. "Let him go." He crouched down and wiped off Mirelle Two on a clean spot of the dead man's robe. "But put this one's head on a pike."

Alyaryl lowered her purple head to the urd'thin as the lizards dragged the body away. She cocked her head, lifting her frills. "Thought you wanted to have them interrogated?"

Asterbury scrunched his muzzle, splaying his ears back. He slipped Mirelle Two back into his belt, and rubbed the soft spot on the dragon's nose. "They don't know anything useful. Didn't know where they came from, why they're here."

"Went a bit overboard then, didn't you?" Alyaryl pressed her muzzle into his palm. The fine scales around her nose were soft and warm, and Asterbury stroked them. "Thought you were saving that speech for someone who'd know who the Storytellers are?"

"Oh, you know me, Aylaryl. Sometimes I just go a bit crazy." Asterbury cackled as he trotted around the dragon's side. He scrambled up her foreleg, and made himself comfortable upon her back. "Rekrek! Get this mess cleaned up! Gavak! Get those musicians to work on my theme song! And Aylaryl?" He hunkered down against the dragon, patting her neck. "You know where to go. We've some very important people to visit!"

*****

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