Frenzy & Torch

Chapter 3: Blades and Latex

The would-be thief lay crying in the fetal position. Elizabeth hadn't even finished asking her first question when he started blubbering and spilled the beans: his name was Carl Von Diddlypickle; his boss was Tony Seymour Ericsson, the head of a crime syndicate that terrorized the nearby town of Ronenheim. They specialized in extortion, sex trafficking, and shroom dealing. Carl was one of a handful of syndicate members tasked with thieving under the guise of being a coachman. Today, of all days, happened to be his turn.

"How far is Ronenheim from here?" Annabelle asked.

Carl snorted dangling snot back into his nose. "I-it's about f-f— "

"Fuckin' hurry up and tell us!" Elizabeth barked.

"F-f-f— " He vomited and bawled some more.

"For God's sake, man, have some dignity," Elizabeth said dryly.

Annabelle sighed. To say she disapproved of Elizabeth's methods would be an understatement. "Sir, we're not going to hurt you. We were just scaring you into talking. Can you please tell us where the village is?"

"Fifteen minutes d-down the road!"

"Thank you," Annabelle responded with a courteous nod. "Now, please: go home, change your pants, and rethink your life choices."

"B-but— Tony— "

"Don't worry about Tony. When we're through, the only thing that'll concern that fuckhead is coffin shopping," Elizabeth replied.

"Indeed," Annabelle said. "Good day to you, sir."

She turned and started down the road, her backpack completely coated in dust. Elizabeth followed suit, but not before pointing her dagger at Carl and saying, "You do this again, I'll feed your balls to the fairies."

She caught up with Annabelle, who looked unusually resolute. "You're totally on board with this, aren't you?" she asked.

Annabelle nodded. "I'm not doing it to gain your approval," she said, brusquer than usual. "I just want to do those villagers a favor. I'd be grateful if someone liberated my village from kidnappers and loan sharks."

Elizabeth caught the shift in tone. She respected that the elf could take a hint. She wasn't a fan of people who were too persistent. It also seemed like Annabelle genuinely cared about helping others, which set her apart from those self-proclaimed "pacifist" elves. She said nothing in response.

A short while later in Ronenheim, Byron Edison was quite literally shaking down a villager. He held the poor man upside down by his ankles, a small pile of coins accumulating on the ground beneath him.

"Please, that's everything I have," the man begged. The spilled coins were just enough to buy food at the market. He'd have to beg for meals for the next week now, but at the moment, he only wanted to be put down.

Byron grunted and let go. The man plopped to the ground with a groan. The loan shark raised his foot and stomped on the villager's stomach.

"I know you got more, Lucas. You gotta. You work for that goddamned blacksmith. You been makin' good money so people can leave this town—killin' our business."

"I don't have anything else, I swear!"

"Lyin' little shit!" he roared.

"Hey!!"

Byron's rage dissolved the moment he heard the voice. He looked up—and instantly shit his pants. The White-boots were approaching, and they had definitely seen what he was doing.

"The fuck you think you're doin'?" Elizabeth asked.

"I was, uh, just uh... " Byron stammered. He was an eight-foot-tall orc in a breastplate, but scared out of his wits by two young women. It was an insult to his manhood. At that moment, his confidence sparked. He straightened up and puffed out his chest.