By Comrade Ruck
Hanging from a quaint little window on a small shop on a side street off social row in the market corner of Andrade is a small sign. This sign is different from most others near it in that it is clean and straight. A bastion of order amidst the sea of chaos that is inner city life. The sign features gold letters over a picture of a small loom. “The Weavers Guild,” it proclaims boldly. Underneath the loom, in slightly smaller letters are the words by appointment only.
…
Mayor Timbly shuffled his papers frantically. “Where is it?!” He yelled to his young female assistant. Even though she had no idea what she was looking for, Amelie made a great show of opening closet doors and randomly throwing items on the floor.
“It’s not here,” she cried back feebly, almost pleading to be out of the situation. If only something or someone would call her away. He gets so violent when he is angry, and she was still sporting the shiner from the last time when she spilled his ale bringing him lunch.
“You fucking lost it, and now I’m dead… No! You’re dead if you don’t get off your ass and find my shit!” His voice steadily got louder and more shrill as he worked himself up into a frenzy. He threw a mug across the room, and it smashed into the wall with a clatter.
Amelie flinched at the sound. “I-i-i am g-going to check the front r-room.” She stammered as she scampered towards the door.
Finally free from immediate danger Amelie weighed her options. She had no money, no family, no friends. At the wrong side of forty she wasn’t even sure if prostitution was still an option. On the other hand, if she stayed here she might not see tomorrow.
THWUNK!
A loud sound from the back interrupted her thoughts. She steeled her resolve and headed back into the room.
Mr. Timbly was seated peacefully with his head down on the desk. If not for the double bladed battle axe peeking out from over his shoulders, you might have imagined he was asleep.
Amelie ran from the room screaming. Had she looked, she would have seen a little white card, with a picture of a loom, sitting on the desk by Mr. Timbly’s head, slowly turning red as blood began to pool.
If you too wish to write for the Red Venom Plains, please contact Auditor Rusty on our discord channel. Please note this is the only currently acceptable means of writing stories in the Land for those of us that are not Aleron Kong
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