The End of Time
The Darkest Basement in Town
In the dingy, damp basement, a note rings out, joining the torch light in its dance from stone wall to stone wall.
A large imposing figure holding a stringed instrument and a hook-nosed cloaked man loom over a beaten, unconscious half-elf, whose filthy brown hair is pulled back into a long pony tail. The mask of a fox sits kilter on the side of his head. Cracks of gold running throughout betray its shattered past.
A second note… ding
“I’m gonna take a finger or two…” The raspy voiced human, opens his cloak revealing a necklace of fingers of all shapes, sizes, and colors. The nails on each are finely manicured and painted a shiny black.
He removes an ornate pair of hooked shears and snips twice. “I just sharpened them.” He grins at the massive, stoic figure next to him who simply grunts in response.
“Aaaaahhhhh.” The hooked-nose man holds his head, his irritation rapidly increasing. “Piiiiip, why’d you have to remind me? Boss said ‘he keeps his fingers’. Boss loves his music. Repeat after me. RepeataftermePip!” He clutches the giant’s head and stares intensely into his eyes, centering himself, then calmly states, “He keeps his fingers.”
A wretched cough from the half elf breaks the moment and returns the grin to hook-nosed man’s face.
“Kitten! You’re awake! Have a nice nap did we?” He swiftly pivots, striking the kneeling half-elf in his gut, doubling him over and intensifying the cough. “Tsk tsk tsk, Boss says you get to keep your fingers.” He grabs the half-elf’s pony tail and jerks his head back. “But he didn’t say nothing about this” With one smooth motion the ornate scissors shear through the hair releasing it into the man’s grasp. He howls with glee and begins whipping the half-elf’s face with his newly acquired trophy. “Ho ho ho ha ha!”
A few more pathetic coughs escape, as the half-elf painfully opens the one eye not swollen shut and stares at the result of such a barbarous act.
“Aww, are you crying kitten? Hey Pip, I think I see a tear?”
The half-elf’s cough slowly transitions into a sanguine smile, blooding dripping from the corners of his mouth, as he chuckles.
Weakly, “Tyr….” Cough cough “She…”
The stench of booze fills the room as the half elf begins humming…
He sings…
‘Shed tears shed tears for poor Tyr Isendel, throw jeers throw jeers at those to whom she fell.
To the walking plant and the sycophant! May they wear the hangman’s wire.’
The hooked nosed man grins and joins in the song, wrapping his arm around him as if they were old drinking buddies.
‘Shed tears shed tears for poor Tyr Isendel, throw jeers throw jeers at those to whom she fell.’
The half-elf trails off…
‘To the glowing witch and that pirate bitch! May they burn upon the pyre.'
'Shed tears shed te…’
Clang@!#!@
The half-elf hits the ground hard as Pip smashes the stringed instrument down on top of his head. It clatters to the floor with a discordant crash and the snap of a string.
“Ahhhhh! Piiip! Why you always gotta ruin my fun!!!”
He kicks the floored half-elf then leans in real close.
“Boss is right, you know. You do sing real pretty, but if you don’t come up with the coin soon… That. Ain’t. Gonna. Matter.” Snipping his shiny scissors to punctuate each word.
“Three days,” standing and brushing the dust off of his cloak.
“Three days Kitten….” The hooked-nosed man gives a casual wave goodbye, leaving the half elf curled into a ball around his broken instrument, coughing and humming into the bloody dirt floor…
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S12 E86 - The Fall of the White Tower
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