Execution, Part 4 continued.

~~~

Author's insert-

In light of things now, the events that unfolded afterward have become more evident, more coherent. At the time the persons involved in the night’s tumblings were scattered in various places, experiencing singular events. And in a surge they converged onto one point in history, forever tangled in the knotty confines of retrospect. Over the years, I have worked on piecing together the story of that night, and it's impact on the events that unfurled from it. I’ve been able to cull details from those who survived, and from visiting the locations myself. The rest I elucidated from documents lost, then found. Diaries, orders, messages etc. Countless hours spent scouring pages and pages. As an old man, not so nimble of tongue as I once was, I struggle to maneuver the pieces onto the board in the manner by which the game was originally played. For my shortcomings on this matter, I hope you’ll forgive me. The elusiveness of perfect loquacity continues to best me, as I hope it does until my passing. So from here, we continue.

~~~

The three men in the other room murmured and fussed over their game of cards as Tilk did his “work” in the latrine. There truly was something wrong with this unit; a loose gasket that Tilk had -purposefully- lazily applied earlier. A convenient excuse to give him access to the tower. A door stood ajar between the washroom and the social area where three soldiers sat with their armor in various forms of undress.

For it’s part, the mess area was beautiful and elegant in a fashion. Bright white tile flooring and brass flourishes in the furniture basked the soldiers in a environment juxtaposed to their brutishness. They belched and spat, drank and ate, joked and played cards—all with similar drunk machismo. This particular room was inaccurately known as “The Shit Box.” to the Guardians of High Ripple. A place to hide from your superiors and get sloshed between shifts.

Salvic sat at the table opposite of another human soldier named “Lomin”, and an orc called “Theo”. He was losing, badly.

“If you deal me another fucking blue one, I’ll rip your fucking eyes out Lomin, I swear to the gods.”

He thrust four copper marks into the pile at the center of the table. His chair shifted and his sword fell to the floor.

Lomin looked over his hand, placed it on the table, and grinned at him.

“How are you losing this much already? You started when, ten minutes ago and you’re already down your night’s earnings?”

Theo mused at this.

“It was that second hand, he thought he had a ringer. Turns out Salvic handles cards as well as he handles a sword; like a small child with a heavy branch.”

Salvic fussed.

“Spare us your Orcish wit, you mongrel. Play your hand.”

Tilk listened to all of this with half an ear. He quickly tightened the gasket and gave the screw a tug. It held firm. He then pulled a peculiar device out of his toolbox. It was a copper gauntlet shaped thing, at the wrist were two small tanks with tubes protruding towards the fingers. He pulled a small lever on the back of the hand portion, and a small hissing sound escaped from the tank. He switched it back and it stopped. A gift from Bill. Tilum had an identical one made to his larger proportions.

Lomin called from the other room.

“Are you almost done in there? I’ve some trouble brewing in me, don’t know how much more I can wait.”

Tilk placed the gauntlet back in the box, and flushed the toilet. Water spiraled towards the copper piping underneath and disappeared.

“All good. Do your worst.”

He grabbed his tools and left the latrine.

Lomin stood abruptly from the table and began to scuttle past Tilk, cards in hand.

“Oh. Here, play my hand for me. These guys are no threat, even to a shit-herder like you.”

The other two guards began to spout ale fueled protestations as Lomin sat at the toilet.

“Close the door at least, damn you!”

Salvic shouted angrily, his voice echoing off the hard walls.

Tilk took the empty chair at the table and placed his toolbox at his feet. Lomin slammed the door and began to drunkenly sing behind it. Theo glared at Tilk with venom.

“It’s your turn shit-herder. Make your move.”

Tilk considered his options and then placed his hand down.

“Pass.”

The play continued. More vitriol. More money lost, more money gained. Lomin continued to expel his innards.

Before too long there was a nervous knock on the door. A befuddled looking soldier with red hair pushed into the room hurriedly.

“Who is the highest ranking person on duty? Does anyone know?”

Lomin called from inside the restroom.

“Who’s asking?”

Theo answered.

“It’s Ginger. He wants to know who the top dog is right now.”

Ginger ignored the slight, he was used to it.

Tilk watched as the men talked it through. He quietly reached his hand down between his feet, and unlatched his toolbox.

Lomin opened the door.

“I guess, technically it might be Specialist Renfield.”

Ginger shook his head fervently.

“Tried that. I knocked on the door, he wouldn’t even open it. I tried to tell him I needed him at the main access entrance, he just said to ‘go away’.”

Theo grinned as he thumbed towards Salvic.

“I think that leaves Sergeant Salvic then.”

The sergeant’s face grew even more grim.

“What? I’m not on duty.”

Lomin opened the door and let out a forced laughter.

“I think you’re right, Theo. Isn’t Sergeant under strict orders to see this prisoner thing through to the end. That’s why you’re here losing to us drunks, instead of down at the docks losing to them drunks.”

Lomin snatched the cards from Tilk’s hand. He looked over the earnings.

”Not bad. Get lost.”

Tilk shuffled past the table and the three men. He watched Salvic from the corner of his eye as Tilk made like he was missing an item from his belongings.

“You know, I think I left my extra gasket in there.” He left the room.

Salvic let out a exasperated sigh.

“Fine. This night has turned out to be a total fuck… thing. I fold.”

He slammed his cards on the table and gathered what was left of his coins. Salvic re-fixed his scabbard to his belt and left the room with Ginger, leaving his shin and foot armor behind.

Tilk waited for the door to shut, and for the footsteps to fade down the hallway before he made his move. He pulled a large wrench out and exited the latrine once more. The gauntlet would be useful later, when they would need a diversion. For now the wrench would do nicely.

He stood at the doorway and did his best to chuckle sheepishly.

“Found it.”

Theo started to reply.

“Found what? What are you blathering ab…”

Lomin’s eyes widened as Tilk brought the heavy tool down on Theo’s skull, interrupting his thoughts. The big orc let out a surprised moan as he twisted to meet his attacker, falling out of his chair. Lomin reached for his sword and Tilk quickly closed the gap. He swung the wrench in an upwards arch, clipping Lomin on the chin and shattering his jaw. Blood filled Lomin’s mouth as he struggled to maintain consciousness, his mind was failing him. Theo picked himself off the floor with a growl. His blood stained the milky white tiling, pools of it filled the channels of grouting. The orc was on Tilk before he could fully turn and slammed him into the wall. Tilk could feel the orc’s warm, putrid breath as Theo’s rough hands wrapped around his throat.

Lomin was still reeling from the previous blow as Tilk struggled to pry the strong fingers off him. No use, he was too strong. Tilk tried his best to swing the wrench in his hand up to Theo’s head, his movements hindered, he only achieved glancing blows off his shoulder armor.

Theo pressed his face into Tilk’s.

“Time to die, shit-herder.”

Tilk used the last of his breath and the energy at his disposal to twist himself. He found he was able to maneuver the wrench onto the orc’s wrist. He screwed the mechanism that worked the clamp, tightening it, and twisted hard. The result was a wet snapping sound, Theo's ulna. He released his grip and took a step back, surprised expression of pain twisted on his face.

Tilk regained his breath and readied a final blow.

“Indeed.”

The wrench struck Theo’s head with a grisly thud, the left side of his face caved in. He slumped to the floor, dead.

Still gasping for breath, he stumbled to where the other guard was crawling his way towards the hallway door. Tilk clubbed the back of the guard's knee hard and Lomin let out a scream. Tilk covered his mouth. He grabbed Lomin by the chest armor and lifted him until they were nose to nose.

“Be very quiet, and I’ll let you live.”

Lomin stifled his scream and nodded.

“Good. Now, I need to know where you are keeping the things you found on those prisoners. Where are their supplies?”

Lomin nodded a few times before Tilk removed his hand to allow him to speak, such as it was. Tilk made out words though blood and fragmented teeth.

“Down the hallway, take a right. Third door on the left.”

“Good man.”

Tilk dragged the man into the bathroom, sitting him against the wall.

“Stay here.”

He returned to the room with the corpse, and proceeded to remove Theo’s now bloody sock and his leather belt, and grabbed a line of wiring from his things. Returning to Lomin, he stuffed the sock into his mouth tied the wire tightly around his head, fixing the gag in place. Lastly, he secured Lomin’s hands behind his back with the belt.

“There. Now you will be safe until we get what we need. Forget my face now, or I will find you. Nod if you understand.”

Lomin nodded once more. Tilk left him there, and barred the bathroom shut from the outside.

Tilk searched Theo’s pockets for any keys he may have on him. A small jingle came from somewere, a breast pocket beneath his armor. Tilk reached inside and pulled out a small ring with four keys on it. He opened the hallway door and casually looked out. Down the hall, he could hear the faint whisperings of conversation. He closed the door behind him, his box of tools in hand. On the second try, he found the correct key to engage the door lock. His breathing now normal; Tilk adjusted his uniform and proceeded, humming the tune that Lomin had sung.