Office of Regnac Blayde. Commander SotF. New Application week.
The door to his office burst inward. The lock and half the frame shattering into tiny pieces with the force of the impact, the oak slamming back into the wall with a loud bang. Blayde looked up from the list of names scattered across his desk, eyes wide and jaw dropping as he gaped at the figure standing in the doorway.
Five foot three of pure flab in a scarlet robe stared at him from the hallway, rotund face framed by a wispy white beard and a shock of stunningly white hair. His brow furrowed as he peered into the office, fuzzy white eyebrows coming together like two Day-Glo centipedes vying for territory. Dark eyes glittering, he raised one pudgy finger, pointing it at Regnac, while at the same time noisily clearing his throat.
"The great lord Paxxo demands your death, Regnac Blood... Eater of poultry and plucker of chickens!"
As he spoke, six other red robed figures crowded into the doorway, each holding high a frozen chicken, and chanting quietly the name of Paxxo. As if on some unseen command, they began to filter into the office, each one of them trying to fix Reg with a malevolent stare, but instead looking quite constipated. Blayde stared back for a moment, then sat forward slightly in his chair, reaching up to casually rub at the bridge of his nose. He wondered just what he had done to deserve this. He shook his head slowly and cursed quietly, mentally adding up the potential cost of a new door and associated frame.
In the interests of trying to keep things on a somewhat civilised course, Reg smiled, interlocking his fingers and nodding a silent greeting. His first instinct had been to rant a fair bit for completely knackering his doorway but, with effort, he managed to stifle that particular reaction. Glancing down at the Guild application itinerary that lay before him, he noted seven names under the heading 'Anger division - potentials'. Nodding to himself he made the mental connection and responded accordingly.
"Anger division, I presume? Very good likenesses of the chicken zealots, I have to admit. You've even got the manic stares almost perfect. Almost. Anyway, can I help you gentlemen?"
The man that had obviously drawn the straw to play the 'Paxxo 'Head zealot' puffed out his cheeks in rage and threw unbelieving glances at his companions. When he finally spoke, Blayde noted that the man was fairly frothing at the gills in rage. "I am not an imposter, Blood! I am a true follower and worshipper of that mightiest of chickens... PAXXO!
"Okay. Alright. I can see that your display of rage has completely broken my door, also buckled the hinges and shattered the surrounding frame entirely. Which is... good... for a demonstration of anger. But... " Blayde shook his head. "I'm afraid that you're going to have to pay for all that damage. Look, lets get the interview over with and then we can talk costings and payback options. How does that sound?" He smiled and splayed his fingers, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk. "Have a seat, gentlemen... "
Apparently, that was all the provocation it took to spur the chicken zealots into action as they screamed the name of Paxxo and charged the startled Blayde.
He ducked as a frozen chicken whistled past his head, then leaned back rapidly as another deadly piece of poultry slammed into the desk where his head had been, hitting his blotter with an iced sharded thump and scattering papers everywhere. Blayde gripped the edge of his desk and heaved, slamming it forward onto the sandalled toes of a suddenly screaming zealot. He swivelled left, braced his feet on the carpet and propelled himself backwards in his chair, the tiny wheels on his swivel mount squeaking frantically as he tried to avoid getting beaned by another hastily swung piece of poultry. With a fanatical scream, the high priest waved his arms around in frantic gesticulation, directing his disciples as they fanned out and advanced on the beleaguered, and yet still seated, form of Blayde.
Tilting sideways, Reg dived out of the chair, giving it a kick that sent it spinning towards his would be executioners. A tall, thin faced zealot leapt onto the advancing piece of furniture, a skilful grin on his face for a fraction of a second before he swivelled rapidly left, flailed his arms, which were clutched tightly around a chicken, and fell through the window, the sound of shattering glass serving to muffle his rapidly diminishing screams.
The others, irate at seeing one of their fellows fall out of the window, charged, poultry flailing wildly. Blayde ducked and weaved, regained his feet and swayed back as a rapidly swung chicken threatened to stave in his chest. His hand flashed out, turned and hammered into the back of the mans elbow as he spun past, the joint snapping like a dry twig. The zealot shouted in alarm and stumbled backward, chicken and arm clasped to his body. Reg parried an incoming poultry, with his forearm, ducked and countered, his fist lashing out to splinter a nose, then backhand across a jaw, teeth cracking under the force of the blow.
The High priest shouted something in the language of 'complete and utter nutcase', pointing fingers and making throat cutting gestures just for good measure. The two undamaged zealots looked at their leader and then at each other, chickens held loosely in their grasp.
"Time to give it up, Gentlemen? Needless to say, I don't think your application to the Guild will pass." Blayde patted dust from his jacket and smiled the most tolerant smile he could muster.
The disciples glanced at one another again and moved wide, left and right, brandishing their birds menacingly. Reg took up as intimidating a posture as he could muster, considering he was striving to battle against frozen chickens, and flicked his gaze from one zealot to the other. As they moved in he launched forward, shouting something akin to a battlecry. His arm came up, intercepting an incoming chicken breast with a well timed block. As the second zealot swept for his head, Blayde ducked, allowing the bird to hurtle past and bean the first priest squarely in the teeth. With the man catapulting backward, blood and teeth flying, he spun into the first zealot, grasped the startled mans wrist and twisted violently backwards, feeling the tendons twist and snap under the intense pressure of his motion. Reaching up, he grabbed the disciple by the robes and charged into his drinks cabinet, slamming the man through the glass fronted doors and smashing into the bottles stored there.
"Hells teeth. Another bloody cabinet!" He blinked and scratched the top of his head, marvelling at the stupidity of his action. "Alright." he muttered. "Time to finish thi- !" his sentence stopped abruptly as the rock solid velocity of a frozen chicken smashed into the back of his skull. Blayde shot forward, bounced from the groaning zealot lodged in his cabinet and stumbled to his knees, his vision a blurred mess.
"Forgot about me, didn't you, Blood, eh?Eh?" The High priest frothed and laughed manically, brandishing his poultry in a potential display of frozen danger. "You thought that I would sit idly by while you beat up my disciples? Well Paxxo will not stand for it I tell you!"
Blayde shook his head in a vain attempt to clear his thoughts. It felt as if he'd been hammered in the head by a boulder. "Uhm..." he uhm'ed as the priest moved in, chicken held high.
"Now, Blood... defiler of chickens... now you finally die!" That said, the poultry swept down in a deadly arc, blasting into the carpet as Reg threw himself sideways, groaning.
The High Priest grinned, puffed his chest and stared down his nose at the prostrate Commander. "How the mighty have fallen, eh? How the once great and extremely dangerous Regnac Blood has fallen, eh? Eh?"
The single shot that hurled the priest from his feet was as unexpected to Blayde as it was to the zealot.
Silence settled over the room for a moment, broken only by the moaning of the injured priests. Blayde moved slowly to his knees and then to his feet, his hand clasped to the back of his head and the egg sized lump growing there. He looked to his office doorway to see Killian, the Envy Division Commander, a smoking flintlock in his hand, his expression grim.
"Need a hand, Commander?" he asked, a half grin on his face. "Looks like you've been having a party."
Blayde managed a dry chuckle. "Something like that... call security. Get these idiots out of here and disposed of. Oh, and one fell out of the window. Might be a mess down there."
Killian nodded grimly. His blue eyes locked to those of Regnac. "What's going on, Commander? "
Blayde shook his head, "I wish I knew, Killian. Thanks for the assist."
"Anytime, Sir."
As the other man walked away, Blayde sat on the edge of his overturned desk, ignoring the pained squeals of the zealot whose feet were still firmly trapped there. "Oh, be quiet... "he muttered.
