Headed by a Snake

Galanis wore three layers of clothing and a pair of gloves. It was his own Flame-taken fault, for needing to. He'd chosen the coldest room in the labyrinth below Silva. He'd tried putting in a furnace once, but the ventilation was shite and it somehow brought in the stink from rest of the sewers.

He'd heard somewhere it was a good strategy, keeping it cold as it was. Anyone coming to deal with him would be real uncomfortable-- and that'd give him an edge. Galanis was a smart guy. He'd take every advantage he could get. That's how a guy survived for so long, doing what he did.

It just didn't occur to him at the time that the higher up the ladder he got, the less time he had to deal with the rabble. The less time dealing with the rabble, the more stupid he felt for having to live in the Flamescarred cold.

If he wanted a second office, he should have got one five years back-- back before everyone knew that he was the wealthiest sack of shite in Silva.

Galanis didn't keep much in the way of personal belongings. He had a desk, he had a metal safe, he had a fake houseplant. He had a few portraits on the wall-- of himself, of course. He wasn't the handsomest guy-- maybe average, maybe a little less. The painters tried to pretty him up. It didn't matter. The paintings were a status thing.

Something that would really tie the room together, though? A rug. And it'd probably make the room a little warmer too. It wouldn't be warm to keep people comfy, but just a little bit would go a long way. And it'd look good. Maybe a nice bold red? A powerful color for a powerful guy.

"How in the hells do the whores not freeze to death, down 'ere?" He asked aloud, rubbing his leather gloves together.

As if to respond, a dim green candle-flame began to burn in the room's center. The normal-colored lanterns began to dim at the same time.

Galanis rolled his eyes. There was a reason he never got a rug. It was that guy.

The flames expanded into a fat, green bonfire... and just as sure as dragons don't exist, a hunchbacked, triple-thief, piece a' shite Warlock hobbled out of it. He probably thought he looked real impressive, too, scowling with a black toothed grin like he'd just eaten a libra of shite.

"Pyraxis..." Galanis groaned, "What in the seven hells d'you want?"

He looked over to where the flames had gone out. The fire was gone, but it left an ugly black spot of soot on the stone. Seven hells... he'd probably need to mop it himself. None of his goons were good at mopping, save maybe Linos.

Or if he had a Flamescarred rug, he'd be able to put that over it.

Galanis was the head of a criminal organization. Apparently, that meant he didn't rate nice things.

The old Warlock, Pyraxis reached his leathery hand out, pointing with a knobbed finger, "I have broughttt... DEATHHH... to one of your... beLOOOVED whOOores..."

He did? Well, that was the worst news he'd received since he'd heard Inquisitor Titos was seen skipping town.

"A shame," Galanis shrugged, "I'll get Linos to clean up the mess. Funny. I didn't know your eh... yer Magic Stick still worked, you old thief."

"LINOSSSS!!!!! IS!!!!!! DEAAAAADDDDD!!!" The Warlock screamed, devolving into a coughing fit. He sounded like a cat hacking up a hairball.

Wait, Linos was dead?

"You Flame-taken criminal!" Galanis yelled, slapping his desk with his palms, "Linos was my best guy! Did he deserve it? The seven hells did 'e do?"

Pyraxis wiped his chin free of blood and snot with his sleeve, "Heeee..... hid... an ELF.... from me..."

Galanis slumped back into his desk chair, "Flame take that mushroom-brain... Ya'd think if a guy's name was Pyraxis Elf-slayer, then he's got a special thing fer slayin' elves."

The Warlock loomed over the desk. Galanis thought he could hear all of the old bastard's bones creak.

"Youuuu innnSSSULLT ME, GALANISSSS????"

"Sod off, old man." Galanis glared back, "I was f*cking agreein' wiv you."

The Ancient's eyes glowed a weird, heretical lime-green, "Elvesss... are a BLIGHT upon this LAAAAAND... Nottttt to be trusted!! Not to be... ssssufferrrred to LIVVVVE.... I have burnt..... VILLAGES.... CITIES.... razed to the ground... to proteccct.... my country..... ARE YOU LISTENNING?!??!"

Galanis raised an eyebrow. He wasn't-- not really. He'd heard the Warlock's xenophobic drivel before, and it didn't have shite to do with him, "Yeah, yeah, f*ck elves. Whatever. The hells are you here for, old man?"

The Old Warlock wouldn't have come to him just to tell him that his smartest lieutenant was dead. Pyraxis glowered, his eyes flaring with burning green mana.

"THE ARTIFAAAACT!!!!" He demanded, smacking his wooden staff noisily against the dungeon stones, "It mussssst be RECOVERRRED!! For the GLOOORRY of the SNEK CULLLLT!!!"

Galanis stared blankly.

Pyraxis continued, slamming his geriatric fist upon Galanis' desk, "Only then... must we JOURNEY..... to the Icingdeath Mountainsss..... We will RECLAIMMMM.... The Sixth.... Eye."

Galanis stared at the old man's hand, wondering how the old freak hadn't fractured anything. When Pyraxis lifted his fingers, it left burning embers smoldering on the wood.

...His desk?! F*ck a Flamescarred rug. Apparently, Galanis didn't rate a nice desk, either.

Annoyed to shite, Galanis swept the embers away with a quick blast of his own eldritch energy.

The old bastard had taught him at least that much.

"Listen up, old man... and I say that partick-ulary not outta disrespect, but 'cos yer hard of hearing..." Galanis leaned forward, "Yer not in charge, 'ere."

"Youuuu.... You DAAAARE?"

Galanis stuck out his chin, "Try me, ya ol' bastard. F*ckin' try me. You know I'm the only Flame-taken thief in this Flame-f*cked city criminal enough to do your dirty work."

The old man grumbled, but that was all. The mana that was collecting around him began to dissipate.

"...Whhhyy?????" The Warlock demanded with a disgusting gargle, "--is the artifacCCCT.... Not. YET. Recoverrrrred?"

"Because it's a Flame-taken process," Galanis firmly reminded. "Listen, guy-- I sent like... thirty guys down to Greer's place. If they can't get our Snake artifact, then we'll just burn it down. How 'bout that?"

Pyraxis narrowed his eyes... "Acceptable..."

"You're gods-damned right it's acceptable."