Name/Pseudonym: {Thomas Radio}
Contact Info: {Discord : Thomas Radio#0749 | Twitter : @Thetrueastwest}
Ethereum Wallet Address: {thomasradio.eth}
“Shillings for a killing! Shillings for a killing!” The man cried, hocking his wares of putrid potions all with one goal. In the Dark Markets, anything goes but quality comes at a cost. A robed figure approached with a purse that clinked softly with every stride. The Bastard, as he was known, lowered his voice to capture the attention of his hooded audience. It was a keen trick he had learned over the years, making an individual out as if they had his full attention.
“Only the best, nearly untraceable,” he waved his hand over a small vial with a sludge the colour of putrid milk.
“None for me today,” the would-be customer replied, he had come with a purpose, “I’m only here for Furakh.”
This stopped the Bastard cold. Looking this way and that before he motioned the patron beyond his stand. “That’s it for today folks! Come back tomorrow to kill your loved ones for fortune or your enemies for revenge!” The Bastard pulled a rope and the heavy velvet curtains fell shrouding them in total darkness.
The robed person removed their purse and undid the tie, slowly loosening the cinch, and light started to spill forth.
“Not here!” the Bastard hissed, “we must move to a more secure area.” With a great heave, he pulled the heavy chains that were covered by a box and a hatch swung open. The two descended and the tent was left in complete darkness once more.
At the bottom of a spiral staircase that felt like it would never end the Bastard pressed his hand against the stones as a passageway fell into view. Torches along the wall flickered to life except for one which sputtered but never managed to catch. “Damn magician, I had these sconces installed a year ago and he’s been by twice a month to fix at least one of them. Charges me through the roof for it. Bloody extortion.”
His guest said nothing.
“Just through here,” and it was, for when they entered the room the visitor had never seen a dungeon so lavish. There were pelts and velvets and wines from the genesis age… And in the centre of the room, the piece for all resistance, the golden skull of Once-King Furakh.
“How did you come to posses-”
“Bah bah bah, show me what you’ve brought before answers are wrought,” the Bastard rubbed his hands deviously.
“Geez, you sound like a Mage, talking in rhymes that way,” but the robed man began once more to undo his purse.
The Bastard shrugged, “I’ve got a Mage cousin I spoke to just the other day, must have stuck in my mind.”
The robed figure held out the purse, this time for the Bastard to open, the light already leaking through the cinch.
With delicate hands and a ginger touch, the Bastard took the weight of the silk bag, the clinking sounding closer to chatter when held this close. He poked his finger in the top, “YOUCH!” and pulled his finger to his mouth to nurse the wound. They had drawn blood. “They’re truly alive!” the Bastard cried and poured some of the contents onto his palm flooding the room in light. Golden Ants glimmered in his hand.
The tradesman flicked his hand and Ants began marching, encircling the Bastard’s wrist. With a word spoken but forgotten they clinched one to another and bonded into chains. Heavier chains than the Bastard had ever held. They dragged his weight to the floor and the Ants kept marching, binding him.
“What is the meaning of this!” the Bastard cried his voice growing sore after a long day of yelling as a vendor, it adopted a shrill tinge of fear.
“It’s simple, I am the Once-King Furakh, and I’m here for my skull,” the robed man walked past the Bastard and lowered his hood, revealing a bald head tattooed with two coins under either eye. “It is actually the skull of my dear brother, who took the fall when they raided our castle. I was mistaken as a mere advisory to the king. I was jailed for it but I kept my wits about me, and my head.” With emphasis, the visitor plucked the skull from the pedestal. With another unspoken word, the skull began to chip disassembling once more as a troop of Golden Ants pealing themselves from the familiar macabre shape. These marched down Furakh’s robes toward the Bastard and his chain began to spread thin, covering his body as almost like a liquid. The troop of Ants parading from Furakh joined with the greater golden colony enveloping the Bastard.
“You’ll never get out of the dungeon without me! Only I know the guragghg” the Ants had found their way into the Bastard’s mouth and stiffened his tongue.
“Oh, that’s alright, because in just a few moments, you will be just another thousand troops in the ever-growing army of the Once-King Furakh,” and with that, the Bastard was entirely consumed, entombed in gold. Slowly he crumbled away. And with more Ants than Furakh had entered with, he left. The doors swung open, the torches lighting just as they should, save for that wonky one. “And I’m taking this back as well,” Furakh said to the colony, as he yanked the Banner of green and black featuring chains, coins, and the golden skull of his brother…