Prologue

M.D.D.

It’s horrible, the smell of the city. I keep wondering, why do I stay here? I’ve heard that Florida is nice this time of year, any time of year. It doesn’t get much worse than a city drowned in booze, corruption, and blues.

Blues isn’t so bad, the bards around here seem pretty talented and that ain’t the booze talking either, I don’t drink; to clarify I don’t drink anymore. Had a rough night at my first rub; I was just a fish at the time. I had one jorum of skee, that’s what it seemed like anyway.

I woke up one or two hours later without my glasses, my shirt was untucked and unbuttoned; to top it off my pants were unbuttoned as well. Just as I was coming to, Dumb Dora opens the door. She’s holding panther piss in one hand and two glasses in the other. Like she was going to ‘Entertain’ me.

I tried to move my arms to push myself up, but my right hand was cuffed to the bedpost. So I had to pull myself into an upwards position using my right arm as a makeshift pulley, and as my mind started to clear I noticed through the haze and foggy feeling, all 3ft 4in of her, hair as long as the Mississippi, and it flowed down her back like a river of chocolate. this could easily be the booze talking, but she was gorgeous, dolled up to a T. Her face was round and met at a point just under her lips. Her eyes, brown and doughy, seemed to rest in a seductive state, never moving, almost freakishly still. “I hope you aren’t trying to run, Slim.” Her voice was high pitched and jagged. I opened my mouth but I couldn’t reply. I could feel the strain on my vocal chords as tried to explain myself but words, no; sound; there was no sound. At the time I couldn’t piece what had happened together but now, now I know what happened.The lady was a seductress, broads known for using social magics to get what they want. She had casted mute on some amount of area around me, making all sound inaudible in that area, it usually lasts for an hour or so. She must’ve slipped me something in my drink. and cast mute so no one would hear me scream. Her icey last words will ring in my head forever, like the night tunes my mother used to sing to me. “Good, couldn’t let you leave our swanky little establishment without teaching you a lesson, Knife Ears.” I didn’t bother trying to scream for help. as she backed out of the doorway and 4 bimbos waltzed in sporting bats. They went to town on me, after the first 5 minutes I no longer felt pain, just the impact. One after another, blow after blow; soon I was unconscious. I came to a day later, at least that’s what the nurse told me. fortunately, my father was a human doctor, so I wasn’t forced into one of those rundown, overcrowded, crummy Elven hospitals. That didn’t stop the M.D.D.’s Gumshoes from stopping by and interrogating me. two Stubby, but terrifyingly strong looking dwarves buzzers in hand, flashing em left and right. You’d think they were carrying pieces of the sun itself. One was bald, but his eyebrows spoke for him, slanted inward, pulling his forehead together into wrinkles that ruined the smooth look of his cranium, right where his forehead met with his face. His beard, oh boy, his beard, red as a fire truck and longer than him, almost. Couldn’t tell ya for the life of me how he buttons his suit jacket or looks down to take a leak. His partner was no better, though not so angry looking and probably the more level-headed one of the two- well, level-headed for a dwarf anyway. But once again, beard braided, well kept, and long as a summer’s day, unlike the shaggy mop looking rags he had tied in a ponytail. Fortunately, the top was hidden by the brim of his hat. They smelled nasty, cigars probably. Dwarves love them some cigars. must use ‘em as pacifiers when they’re little, littler? Anyway, it wasn’t the first time I’d had an… encounter with the M.D.D., I used to be what our boys in blue call a grifter. nothing major, just small, petty thefts. It was how my brothers and I tested our skills. However, this time was different. They asked questions about the other 3 guys, and I told them all I could recall, but they didn’t seem satisfied. I couldn’t figure out why there were so many questions, or why they’d ask the boy in the cast sporting a broken pair of specs what happened to the other boys. My mind started to clear about three hours after I woke up. I was finally able to think clearly, but I ain’t really sure if it was a blessing or not. It could’ve been that the medicine was wearing off, or it could just as likely be that I was finally coming to, “Why?” you may be asking yourself, that’s simple: it’s because I felt every broken rib, two to be exact, and each fracture secreted pain, coating my limbs in a blanket of the body’s equivalent to natural horror, leaving me in agony. Not your normal, “Woe is me” type of agony, either. This was more of a hatred, a desire to take this pain, no, these feelings, the feeling of inferiority and outright oppression. The feeling of being hated, the feeling of being alone in a world filled to the brim with people of all shapes and sizes. Taking these feelings and wearing them as a badge: one of honor, one of pride, one of freedom, and taking this anger, this agony, and delivering justice. I thought by using my father’s name I could go to a H.D. college and get a degree in law, taking what I learned and saving the oppressed like myself. I finished college with my law degree. But I found my badge elsewhere. It stands for integrity, safety, protecting the weak, punishing the wicked. It stands for Municipal Divination Department.

Next Chapter: Tenaments