Chapter 7: Admit One to Freak Circus
Elsewhere, during the following night inside a rundown military fort, Mikhail Tanrix stood in the presence of his leader, Death Eye.
Death Eye sighed a bit, “I know they arrived earlier, yet the twits have not yet reported to me.” He looked rather agitated, at least more than usual. Mikhail knew why he was here. There was only one reason Death Eye ever summoned him specifically.
“Mikhail, bring the Danvers to me at once! I had ordered them to set up downwind due to the foul smell of their festivities. They should reported here by now.” Death Eye spoke with great agitation, as such Mikhail knew it was unwise to argue with him.
“As you wish, lord Death Eye.” Mikhail said with a bow, taking notice that behind Death Eye a newly carved shape of an eye had been made.
Not really one of the cult devotees he did not know what their fascination with skulls and eyes were about, but he also did not care. Once outside of the half destroyed military fort Mikhail sighed deeply.
“I joined this troupe for battle. Not for errand work.” He said in a mumble. Looking across the hill where the group had formed a small encampment around the fort they had destroyed earlier – an attack he was not a part of. Mikhail grumbled, remembering this fact. On his scan of the area he saw a tattered flag flying in the wind pointing down a hill, “Hah! Downwind my ass, those two clowns are never where they’re supposed to be!” Mikhail declared brazenly as he walked the opposite direction in search of the two people he hated most.
“I swear my swords are going to rust at this rate.” Mikhail complained as he scanned the various tents of cultists and mercenaries. He wasn’t sure if it was a relief or not that he did not see the tent he had dubbed the freak circus tent. The Danvers used a tent that very much resembled a circus tent…it was pink with white polka dots, and it was capable of having its top removed. This was why it was ordered downwind of the troops as well – the carnage done within it was prone to produce a rotting flesh smell. Even to those devoted to extermination of humankind, a rank smell is demoralizing.
Mikhail scoured the area but saw no sign of the place, “Figures, the one time I assume they’re going to not be where they’re supposed to, they cosmically follow orders.” Mikhail complained.
Before he could turn around to head downwind another mercenary tapped him on the shoulder, “Hey, you’re Mikhail Tanrix right?!” The mercenary said in a drunken tone.
Mikhail sighed, he knew where this was going and it wasn’t anything he wanted to talk about. If it was about swordsmanship, battle, or even famous warriors this would be pleasant. But it wouldn’t be. It never was, but he sighed, “Yes.” Mikhail responded unenthusiastically.
The drunken mercenary slapped Mikhail on the shoulder, “You sir are an inspiration! I don’t know HOW you survived the lottery choice of sending you after the Danvers, but damn boy you must be something fierce for them to not kill you! You’re a legend!”
Hooray! A legend for surviving a bunch of nitwit psychopaths! Yay, Mikhail was SO happy! Not. Mikhail chuckled sheepishly with the mercenary, not wanting to incur Death Eyes wrath for another brawl over this issue. Mikhail restrained himself, but being reminded just why he was being withheld from active combat was like rubbing salt on an open wound.
“Sit down an’ have a beer with us! To the man who keeps us from dealing with the Danvers!” The drunkard said as he raised a stein of beer upwards.
Mikhail scratched his head. If nothing else this put off the discomfort of actually DOING what he’s being celebrated for right now.
Unfortunately, this celebration was short-lived as the drunkard excused himself to get more beer. Hooray! Beer for drunken mercenary, freak show duty for Mikhail! Yes, life was so grand for Mikhail.
Sighing, Mikhail picked himself up and trudged to the downward path the flag had been blowing towards earlier.
Only halfway down the winding hill path he began to hear screaming as well as the Danvers’s sick laughter, and he could smell the fire and burning flesh. Another sigh came out of Mikhail, “The sky is blue, water is wet, and the Danvers are being disgusting.”
He continued as slowly as possible before the tent came into view, “Hooray for the freak circus.” He sighed as he came closer and closer to the tent he saw a freshly cut head on a pike with a sign reading “do not disturb” underneath it. Mikhail rolled his eyes. “A true warrior does not bother with such trivialities. I could be in the middle of an enemy swarm facing them all by myself. Instead, here I am dealing with a bunch of children.” He grumbled before reluctantly knocking on the tents wooden door.