Egbert was abuzz with anticipation; today was the big day, the day Max’s tavern opened up to the world and the day he put a bullshit shortcut into his dungeon because, well, it would probably make him more money with all the foot traffic. You could now wander into the bottom floor through a straight tunnel carved behind the base of the waterfall. And for just a couple copper extra, a little umbrella would protect you from getting wet.

  Max had been working like a man possessed, eating little, sleeping less, and drinking plenty as he busted out the tavern in record time. The Orphans had been surprisingly on board with helping him. Egbert was pretty sure they were just as excited about the prospect of robbing the patrons as he was.

  It wasn’t done, done. Per se, but the bottom floor had walls and a smooth dark wooden floor with drains built in. The whole building was shaped like a half moon, with the inside of the moon being a balcony that hung slightly over the whirlpool. Inside, Max had a fantastical bar that greed had begrudgingly helped with; it ran along the entire curve of the tavern. A single piece of impossibly carved stone that was impressed with little filigree images of coins and a cutesy paintings of loot bugs running across the top.

  There were some questionably sturdy tables strewn about for customers trailing from the interior out to the open wall that led to the balcony. Egbert was convinced someone was going to die immediately because of that safety-railless abomination that Max somehow thought was atmospheric.

  But almost none of that mattered; what really mattered to Egbert was that he had set up some glorious, glorious coin boxes for betting. He had the stage set and ways for people to either join the brewing loot bug war or to pay to help one side or the other.

  So far they had been content sitting in their respective castles. Bubba was still nowhere to be seen, but another big bastard of a lootbug bannerman had stepped up and was ruling Bubba's castle with an iron fist, knocking heads and screeching orders. He didn’t quite fit the throne Egbert had made, but it was fine for now.

  Egbert had a solid plan for how to really kick off the war; it had taken him a while to figure out what each faction really truly valued. Well… Twitches side was just Zip-dust; that much was unfortunately still readily apparent. But Bubba's side took some observation; they constantly had brawls amongst themselves, bruisers slamming shell against shell until the loser was cast from whatever high place they had decided to have a bulk-off on.

  The winners collected something nearly every time from the losers. Purple fucking cloth; Bubba's side goddamned loved anything in their heraldry colors and used it to fashion themselves rough fluffy coats. Egbert thought it made them look like pissed-off lopsided grapes, but to each their own. And with this glorious deduction I could certainly start a war for resources…

  The “puppy” mewled for uppies next to the tavern bar. Max leaned down and picked it up, cradling it in one arm as he polished the counter off. Egbert's evil pet rock was sitting on the bar counter now so he could talk to patrons, and he tsked disapprovingly at Max. “Oh hush, it’s still cute!” Max said defensively, giving it a scritch.

  “That thing is the deadliest thing that wanders these halls other than Thrognar.” Egbert asserted grumpily.

  “Then I guess we better keep it placated for our own survival,” Max said sarcastically while scratching the “puppy” under the chin.

  “Bah….did you get the…egghhh mages…to install the battlefield scrying wall…?” Egbert distastefully asked,

  “Of course I did…and no, I didn’t use anyone associated with the academy we are most certainly both on a kill list at. I’m not that dumb; if any of those guys come in, I’m grabbing my own damn sword. I don’t think they would buy me being just a poor unassuming guide who didn’t know my partner was going to murder their students,” Max said pointedly and set the puppy down to rearrange some glasses behind the counter.

  “I make no apologies!” Egbert hissed back.

  Max rolled his eyes. “Yeah, the door engraving saying you will feed them to mimics made that pressy fucking clear.”

  “Ha, I actually forgot about that!”

  “How… It’s on the front door; isn’t that kind of like a face tattoo for you?”

  “Rude, and it’s not like I have a mirror max…”

  Max looked at the rock with judgy eyes. “You have omnipotent vision here; you don’t need a damn mirror.”

  “Oh look, people!” Egbert zoomed away.

  “See, that’s what I mean!” Max shouted in the general direction he guessed Egbert went.

  Egbert would have rubbed his damned eyes if he could. A dwarf that looked like he had been dragged through the depths of a forested hell was crawling through the waterfall. Massive hunks of his beard were missing, and the cloths he wore were so stained it took Egbert a moment to recognize the poor bugger as one of Brom’s apprentices. Ehhh...wait...didn’t Bubba...yeet you off into who knows where? Wait, no way…

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Nestled into the dwarf’s ratty, tangled beard was Bubba in all his glory, yanking forward every time the nearly unconscious dwarf slowed. He spurred his steed in like a conquering hero long lost from his home, returning the last few leagues to his dismayed family, who had thought him fallen bravely in battle.

  Egbert didn’t even know how to process what was happening. The dwarf stumbled the last few steps down the corridor and fell face first onto the cold, hard stone floor a few strides from the “dark lord training camp.” Unfortunately, that was the sign the orphans had put above their little collection of shacks.

  Bubba sauntered from his nest and confidently swaggered his way through the shacks and straight towards his castle. How the hell does he know that is for him? Also, WHY DOES BUBBA HAVE A CLASS? Egbert sighed deeply and just followed his newest ever-escalating problem to watch him almost certainly beat the utter shit out of the poor pretender on his throne.

  This ought to at last be interesting. Although with all this brewing, I’m terrified that I haven’t seen contempt in days… or his death cultist Bannermen. I wonder what that hateful shit is up to.

  Bubba clambered straight up to the bridge leading to his castle; it utterly towered over his still diminutive form. The bannermen gathered at the gate and along the walls, purple cloth banners flapping dramatically in a sourceless breeze as they gazed in rapturous shock at their long-lost lord. Someone inside the castle sounded what must have been a tuba; a deep, uncomfortably bass note rumbled across the cavern without end. Who the hell gave them that? Why do they have a tuba now? Dammit. Resh, it was you, wasn’t it? Stop trading with the loot bugs!

  Bubba bellowed like a great warbling pelican or the call of a deep-sea whale in greeting as his men fell to their “knees” in supplication as one; the chime of golden shell on stone rang across the battlefield. “What the hell are they doing now?” Max shouted from the tavern balcony. Egbert ignored him.

  Bubba charged through the gates, weaving around his men and straight into the center of his castle. Brutally clambering up the ladders and platforms with such force, the whole castle shifted slightly. Okay, I may have cheaped out too much on the whole structural support thing.

  He exploded onto the top floor; there before him stood the usurper, a hammer in hand, and two traitors flanking him on either side, ready to fight to hold the power they had clawed from his absence. Bubba hissed ominously towards them, demanding they stand down. No one moved for a moment before Bubba let out a hissing, resigned sigh.

  The first Banner mug didn’t even get to move. Mana exploded from behind him, rotating gravity so that he was flung straight to Bubba's waiting fist. Two catastrophic shell-breaking cracks rang out as Bubba rained hooking blows through the traitor's shell, leaving his dripping remains twitching pitifully on the floor. Bubba looked towards the others with violence in his eyes. A little dramatic considering they respawn. But okay.

  Bubba exploded into motion, the very force of gravity flinging him towards the next traitor. He impacted his foe mid-swing with the hammer blow, cracking off the edge of his shell harmlessly instants before his impact flung the traitor through the stone wall in a shower of goop and rubble, exposing the battle to the waiting bannermen below. He stood in the gap for a moment before rounding on his one living opponent.

  The usurper charged, sweeping his hammer in wide, devastating blows. Bubba didn’t give ground, blocking each sharp strike from his much larger opponent with flashes of colorless mana that stopped the blows dead in midair each time. The exchange continued; Bobba humiliated his opponent by stymieing his every attack until somehow he had circled around so the foe's back was to the hole in the wall. There was a pause as the usurper realized the depth of his error.

  It was too late; Bubba launched straight onto the banner bug's chest. With one savage blow, his arm, hammer, and all went tumbling from the tower. Bubba's next blow shredded the heraldry from the usurper's shell; his final blow was pure focused force on the bottom of the bannerman's head. It was ripped free and sent spiraling down to Bubba’s onlooking subjects.

  “GGGRRAAHHHHHSSSSSSSS,” Bubba cried out over his battlement, and an answering chorus of hisses echoed across the room. Oh wow, I really think Twitch might be fucked. I need to even the odds somehow…

  “SERIOUSLY! “Greed, what is happening over there!?” shouted out from the tavern. Ehh, you don’t want to know, Max. Go grind some mint or something…

  Contempt—Ulfric’s School Of Magic

  Contempt gazed from his perch within the mouth of a gargoyle over the teeming throng of vermin below. Practically laden with magical baubles and weapons. They thought that they could attack his home—HIS DOMAIN! With impunity, and there would be no repercussions… They were wrong.

  His hateful horns gestured towards an important-looking hovel on the edges of the courtyard. It was covered in burning lines of letters and barred windows. That wouldn’t stop them from taking righteous vengeance. The one known as Cromwell had come and gone from that structure multiple times this day. Contempt didn’t know if it was his home, but it was certainly important to him. Therefore, it would be Contempt’s target for this first foray.

  He nodded towards his faithful, the few who bore his marks, the few among the others who had the drive, the sheer cold nature needed for his tasks. They dropped from the statue down into the courtyard like wraiths wielding the short scythes he had granted to them, born of shadow and stolen scrap metal, mostly stolen scrap metal.

  He extended his powers down below into the teeming masses. First he obfuscated his faithful from the eyes of those around them. Blanketing them in a chameleonic cloak that they may better carry out his will. Then slowly at first he began gathering the dark powers of the beyond to himself.

  By the time a swirling miasma of gold and black light crackled in an orb from the tip of his horns, the cattle below had begun to notice. Pointing curiously a few shouting questions to their neighbors, that’s when his soldier struck. Legs were cleaved, ankles rent, and none were safe as they went through the crowd like a scythe unto the wheat, carving a path towards Cromwell’s dwelling.

  Contempt needed the crowd afraid and unaware of his goals; he finished the grand casting of his spectral summon, and the reaper formed from equal parts avarice and death, weaving his intent into a beautiful construct of lethal purpose. It dove down into the crowd below. Contempt hissed in satisfied laughter; he would have his revenge this night.