The Cheap Seats (Neverwinter)

A bank of headlights filtered in and out of view as traffic zipped along the main arterial roadway. The stretch, raised on pylons, was framed just a half-mile north of the nearest collector, by a sea of neon banners and rotating billboards. Jump City's Cineplex could be seen at night from clear across a quarter of the urban area. It boasted fifteen screens, several lounge suites, its own bartop, and toilets that always remained minty fresh. This sizeable facility was a perpetual bustle. In darkness they catered to their raunchier audiences or gore enthusiasts. Whilst the main lobby was conducting business with their usual clientèle, side entrances had opened to adhere to the whim of certain shadier gentlemen. Excess screens now ran a multitude of smut or B movies. Blockbusters may have been their cash cow, but back-alley garbage brought in a quick buck.

High walls sheltered these discreet doorways, affording a degree of privacy. The denizens of the line waited dumbly for admittance. Overhead an ineloquent movement caused a clutter which turned heads. None saw anything amiss through the pitch and thus disregarded the noise. Yellow scleras stared back at them, unhindered by the frailty of light. Scapegoat watched from on top of the brick divider. After several minutes he left, deftly skulking back to his point of origin.

Tonight the ghoul had dressed for the occasion. Judging from his attire, that occasion was nothing good. A dapper tailcoat sat in contrast to his threadbare shirt and ragged pantaloons. The sleeves tapered a slight bit short to hide his manacles, present on both wrists. His skin had been slathered in a watered-down mixture of chalk which further accentuated his pale complexion. Vernon's hair was also matted with said powder, interwoven with various small bones he'd gathered from recent feasts. Unfortunately that last dramatic flare was fast disappearing, as the ghoul could not help but pick at the ornaments as if they were snacks.

Finally, he carried the sapling of a willow tree, crudely fashioned into a staff. With this he now attracted attention, as if the lune pack he was approaching had not already sensed his presence. He beelined for one lune in particular, the red-eyed alpha-female. “If you have her scent, then I can begin-” At that moment Scapegoat stubbed his toe on a step. His eyes rolled back in their sockets and his muscles went limp. Entirely deceased, the ghoul teetered forward and landed face first in front of the creature he addressed. The collision of the fall returned him to life in an instant. Vernon frowned in puzzlement at his concrete face-mask, “What hit me? Who got his license plate?”

After recovery he continued, “As I was saying before the architecture rudely interrupted; I can begin preparations for my sealing spell. Seal Galvora's magic, and the night is yours. That tree is yours. That parking space is yours. That suspiciously stinky puddle is yours! Su territorio es su territorio. As the French who speak Spanish say.” Another bone had found its way from his hair into his mouth. Scapegoat rolled it between his teeth like a cigar. It bobbed as he rambled on, “And may I take this opportunity to express my immense pleasure at joining your pack. Never been in a pack before. I totally call first dibs on any fatalities you guys may suffer. Just think of me as the community burial ground.”

Lan was... ... upset. In no time at all, less than two months, a whelp of a human had barged into her territory - bearing the master's mark, no less, showed her up in front of her pack, killed several of her children, dishonored her god, openly defied her, disrespected her at every occasion... And then stole one of hers? The taste of bile rose in her throat, and the red-eyed lune, the red having nothing to do with being a lune and everything to do with bloodshot insanity, grit her teeth, her jaws creaking as teeth ground together.

As was proper, her children cowered away from her, and pointedly did not look at the disemboweled young dog in front of her. He'd had the audacity to challenge Lan, thinking that his might and size were all that mattered, that he could best her. All because of that... Girl. He wasn't the first she'd had to do this to... Her strongest lieutenants had risen against her, and she'd killed them. Torn out their hearts and crushed their heads - and that was mercy, she'd liked them.

This one? He'd been turned... inside out, and left to die slowly, so all the others could see it happen. This went on for about an hour before he died, with her sitting right there, staring at what she'd wrought. Then, she ate the insubordinate mongrel's remains. Whole. Without chewing. Every other cowered. Properly. No more would try this again - but that whore of a child would pay. An evening of the scales, oh yes. Lan had a plan to do just that.

When the ghoul walked up to the prepared location, Lan regarded him haughtily, her eyes cold and sitting stance defiant, regal, imperious. Her children cowered in dog forms behind her. She wasn't the biggest... But her mad eyes and bearing, and the gore covering her spoke volumes of the monstrous dominance she held over the rest. They feared her.

The ghoul began to speak, and to his first statement she began to reply... But clamped her mouth shut again as he tripped, leveling a cool gaze at him. He died standing up as he stubbed his toe, and... Fell over,
Coming back to life again. She narrowed her eyes, and listened.

"I have." she commented, stating it as simple fact in a clear, calm voice.

"Did you to obtain the Athame, Ghoul?" she said, the words again calm and quiet, but in them came the inflection of a threat. She was ready to leap upon him if he had not - she didn't have patience for fools.

Most people did not know of a Lune's weakness to silver. Lan had been sure when she'd met the ghoul who had approached her did not either... So she'd told him of where to obtain a sacred knife of silver, an athame of a famous wiccan priestess who was visiting in the area (with whom Lan had conflicted many times) that could 'seal the girl's magic'.

And it was magical. Ohhhhh yes... Veeeery magical. Lan knew well its purpose. It was meant to glow in the presence of her kind... And give the wielder the insight to see a Lune for what they really were. The old priestess made the blade of silver, too... What a beautiful abomination it was. And in being used by a demon-serving horror, it would render backlash unto the priestess three times what the ghoul use it for. If he had stolen it as instructed... This would be a very sweet night. All he need do... Is draw a drop of her blood with that blade... And the night would be glorious.[/i]

A desultory breeze passed between the two. Vernon angled his neck back listening to Lan. The staff he carried came to rest under his chin, a let's-be-friends expression lighting his chalk-smeared features. He alone amongst the pack seemed blitheringly oblivious to this literal gut-wrench horror. Cowering did not aid a subordinate. If one expected pity from their master, or worse; mercy, then they would become accustomed to disappointment. There were far more productive ways to show submission, like taking a little pride in your duties. Whistle while you work.

"Did he obtain the Athame she said." Scapegoat pulled back his fancy jacket to reveal the ebony hilt of a knife tucked into the band of his legwear. An ethereal glow radiated from the trinket, causing Vernon some surprise. The cane retired to a resting place beneath his armpit. Eyes wide, Vernon plucked the Athame from its pouch and held it out in front of him for inspection. It had not been luminescent before. Cooling fans activated in the ghouls mind as his brain tried processing this development. At last he reached a conclusion, "Oh look. Night-lights these days are getting less kid friendly."

Scapegoat's own stake in this partnership had not been heavily elaborated upon. An advantage to playing second fiddle was that first fiddles did not often concern themselves with what piece you were performing. It was a tune complimenting their own, that was good enough. For instance, the ghoul's last encounter with Galvora was a tale unknown to Lan. It was an inconvenient truth that may shed light on events Vernon felt were best revealed via text. Basically after there were a couple countries between him and the recipient. Lan would doubtless disapprove of his prior unlicensed lune poaching activities. What he had said amounted to little more than vague entreaties of vengeance. The ghoul had been inconvenienced by Galvora. It would be only natural that he'd want to repay the favour in kind.

"The knife is lovely, Leader. Just lovely. Only why did you have me steal it?" Scapegoat began to swing the weapon around. It passed between palm and wrist as it jinked about dangerously, once or twice going airborne before he caught it inexpertly. "I mean, you knew where it was, what it could do. And I'm sure witches don't scare ya. I'm sure you're the type to say 'knickers' to witches. So why now?" Once more airborne, the Athame dropped between Scapegoat's hands and landed between his exposed toes. The ghoul blinked as he beheld the spectacle, "Stay. Good knife."

Lan's eyes sparkled with approval of the ghoul's deductive reasoning, and she nodded at him, and the knife he'd dropped so clumsily.

"It is a holy blade, ghoul - and not in the usual sense." she said, and leered at him, her teeth just half-exposed in her wolfish grin.

"It is anathema - it hungers for Luneflesh, blessed to deny the whelp's powers." she said, standing and pacing a little, eyes on him. She moved in, gripped the pommel in her jaws, and handed it to him calmly

"If I have to do everything... What good are you?" she asked coolly, her voice a throaty rumble of contempt and amusement. Her body shifted then, and she didn't so much grow as... Change proportion, change her balance, and take on a humanoid form. Muscles rippled as bones shifted around inside her fluidly to accommodate the new bare shape.

She worked her jaw a bit, then added, her voice alto and throaty "So far you've performed admirably. I approve. Continue and there will be boons." and grinned. She was... Insane. Not in the manic way, either, but... cold, quiet, utterly confident and self-certain insanity, the kind that seems fine... Until it isn't.

"I don't think I need to tell you what failure will mean. Go.

Delegation, the prerogative of a leader. In putting off this scheme, Lan claimed that she was merely biding her time until an eligible lackey came along. Scapegoat was that lucky lackey! He took her explanation at face value. Unless given clear instructions, the ghoul floundered his way into most plans. This moonhound had presented him with a sound opportunity, so it was only right he match that contribution by taking the risks involved.
 
After a disquieting demonstration of her abominable transmogrification, Lan returned the blasphemous tool to his possession and sent him on his way. Falling sombre, he turned and darted off without further comment. Of course she didn't have to tell him what failure meant. Scapegoat had read the dictionary. Although he didn't quite believe the motivations of the main character, and that car chase in the middle of letter K came out of nowhere.
 
Reread it if you don't remember.
 
From an unsteady start the ghoul held his balance at the foot of the stairs and ran off in a direction through the massed shapes of pack lunes. Breathes were held as he neared, a disconcerting and ever present stench of decay upsetting sensitive nostrils. Like an unwelcomed pest he scurried into a gap in the surrounding brick-a-brack and was suddenly beyond reach. The group exhaled.
 
A moment later the ghoul doubled-back, heading in the correct direction. He hoped he would arrive in time to catch the movie trailers.