The Crimson Party

Chapter 1

The only thing braver than a turnkey on the other side of a prison cell, is one with a baton, Rickstraw used his to play the iron bars of the communal cell, the one Thomas was in. The turnkey nearly drooled with the delight of torturing the prisoners out of sleep, his fat jowls giving the appearance of particularly repulsive swine, delightfully taunting the yappers on the other side, safe and assured that nothing could reach him past iron bars.

Thomas thought that if he ever got out; he would carve some corks into tusks, and stick them to the turnkey's teeth, all wobbly and soft, just like the turnkey's soul.

Some of the other prisoners groaned, and some stayed silent, one or two slept still, maybe dead, maybe as good as. When they had mostly woken, and the turnkey had given a snorting laugh, Thomas began to hear him speak.

"Time for your meals you oaty shites, worry not, the fare is better now than it was, the dogs aren't eating, and so all of ye will. "

The food was a stew, different from mud only in its smell, and Thomas understood why the Blackhouse hounds would not partake, the stench was worse than the cell's, the same cell that Thomas had been in for days, and the others had been in for weeks, none dwelt in the Blackhouse for long, it was merely a stop along the way, for the worst sort, or the most unfortunate.

Thomas was used to better fare, hearty meals and lighter ones, but his days of luxury and privilege were long gone, he had been exiled, and then placed here, to die, or worse, amongst the poor and low-bred.

Thomas cared very little.

He watched the other 9 prisoners, especially one of the newer ones, a broad bull of a man. Bull went over to someone smaller, a man with knotted forearms, and a scar on his neck. The one thought that came then to Thomas, was that neck scars were rare, and then he had no more time for thought.

The Bull was jostling Scar-neck, attempting to gain two bowls of food instead of one; the turnkey merely looked on, entertained by this new development, a King observing two jesters at his court.

Bull smiled at first, speaking to Scar-neck in hushed tones, Thomas he thought he could hear them, but had no inclination to. Scar-neck was silent, and that was when Bull's smile was gone, and his hand was on Scar-neck's shoulder. Scar-neck was a large man, not at all small, even went seated, but the palm of Bulls' hand stretched all across one shoulder, and his thumb rested on the scar of his victim's neck. And that was when Scar-neck smiled.

Between one moment and the next, Bull face was gazing at Scar, and then with a sick wrenching sound, it was looking the exact other way, Scar took Bull's bowl before it could fall to the ground, and greedily gulped his wretched prize even as the prisoners started to holler, and the Turnkey rang his little bells, calling for the prison mage, and two dozen guards.

Thomas looked at his bowl of stew, and contemplated eating it before their next beating, and as he did he spied a wretched little Gnome girl, in the neighbouring cell on his left.

"Fat pig will be here with his betters soon, no time to eat this." he confessed to her. 

He whispered under his breath as he slid the bowl sideways through the bars, and somehow the brown sludge didn't drop out of it like it should have. The gnome girl was already eating from it even as Thomas idly considered winking, a shame.