Pogrom

(A Comedy in One Part) 

Hoarkin jerked awake, almost falling out of his saddle.  Esdee was snorting and acting skittish.  Not the normal reaction his ram had when entering Stormwind, but the usual reaction at battlefields.  Gripping his reins tightly, Hoarkin glanced wildly about, looking for the danger.  Then he saw the body.

And the next one.

A trail of bodies, in fact, leading to the city…he could see a few scattered on the causeway in the Valley of Honor.  The bodies troubled him, but there were people that died in front of Stormwind on almost every day.  Usually because of some asinine display of machismo or in a honor-fueled waste of life known as a duel.

Then he made it through the barbican and into the city proper.  Esdee reared and bleated.

The Horde must have attacked, and in great numbers, he thought, boggling at the sheer number of corpses littering the streets.  They were almost like paving stones, so many there were.  And there were no guards present, even more worrisome.

Hoarkin kicked Esdee into a trot and tried to ignore the sickening crunching and wet slurping noises the ram’s hooves made.  The epicenter of this carnage appeared to be the bank and the mailbox outside it—bodies stood two to three deep at this point.  Hoarkin tried to hold his breath as he felt his gorge rising.  Finally, he could hold no more as the stench of bodily fluids and bowel contents and blood and the crimson panorama claimed him.  He vomited, repeatedly, until he could no more.  Only the ghastly carpet below him gave him the will to hang on to Esdee’s mane.

Finally, after he had gone through all of his bile and had nothing left to spew, Hoarkin clucked Esdee into motion again.  Then he heard it.  Cries, the ring of steel on steel.  He kicked Esdee into a gallop and sped out onto the side of the canals.

Bodies floated face down in the canals, littered the bridges and cluttered the gutters.  Hoarkin ignored these as he made for where the sound of battle was coming…the Cathedral district.

“Stop!  Oh sweet merciful Light, help me!” a man screamed, jumping in front of Hoarkin nearly too late.  The gnome yanked hard on the reins and barely avoided going over the ram’s head and winding up on the blood-soaked cobbles.

“By all the gods man!  What is going on?” Hoarkin rasped at the human, dressed in slashed and blood-spattered finery.

“Oh master, they’re killing us…they’re killing us all!  We’ve taken refuge in the Cathedral, and the guards are trying…but they’re killing us all!”

“Who…what?”  Hoarkin spluttered and was cut off by a terrible explosion.  He looked toward the Cathedral and saw, to his horror, one of the great spires tumbling.

“There’s no time!  Please, master gnome, please!  Take me away from here!  I swear I’ll explain but if we don’t leave now, they’ll kill me!”

I can’t stop whatever’s going on if it’s killing Stormwind’s guards and toppling the Cathedral of Light…

“Okay, fine, grab hold!”  Hoarkin said, thrusting out his hand, “Hit the stirrup there and swing…there we go.  Hayah!”

The ram did an admirable job of keeping its footing on the blood-soaked cobbles.  The gnome and human held tight as Esdee sped across the causeway over the blood-red moat of mayhem-filled Stormwind.

---

They finally stopped at an abandoned farmstead in Westfall.  The pillagers had been here and long gone, if the weeds growing in the kitchen were any indication.  There was nothing to make in the house, so Hoarkin conjured up some bread and water, handing it to the man, who, it turned out, was covered in blood but none of it his.

“Sorry, I know this is fairly unsatisfying food and drink, but it’s all I have,” Hoarkin said, pulling an empty crate over to sit on.

“That’s fine, master, I’m happy to be here to eat it.  To me it’s the finest feast ever, since it’s the first meal of the rest of my life…which, until you came along, could have been measured in hours at best.”

“You keep calling me ‘master,’ yet you’re dressed as elegantly as any noble I’ve ever seen.  What’s going on?  Is it a commoner’s revolt, finally?”

The man laughed.  “No, no sir.  I am not a noble, and it’s not a revolt.  No…in fact I was very lucky, until the whole thing got out of hand…I had merely been fired.  But then they started killing us—”

“Wait, wait, who are ‘they’ and who are ‘us?’” Hoarkin said, interrupting.

“Oh…sir, have you not been in town recently?”

“No, I’ve been off tracking down some Defias thugs…been in the mountains for a couple weeks.”

“Oh…I see,” the man started looking nervous, “do you…ahem…um…do you know about the new banks?”

“Someone mentioned something about some new banking thing…but I didn’t hear the details.”

“Oh, ‘tis such a tale of woe good sir, it will make your heart break to hear it!  Those thrice-damned gnomes from the Gold Islands…they’ve caused this…them and their evil invention!”

“Gold Islands?  There’s gnomes on some islands?  Really?  Wait…invention?  What?”

“You know how the humans developed the Magic Vault for our banking system, right?”

“Yes, and damned handy it is too.”

“Well the hellspawn gnomes from the Gold Island have done the same thing…but are able to align it to entire guilds instead of single users.  It’s awful!” the human began crying.

Hoarkin looked perplexed.  “I don’t understand why it’s so bad.  That sounds like a great idea to me…able to have a communal place where all—”

“But what about us?” the man wailed, “What about all of us loyal, hardworking, and above all beautifully dressed and soft-skinned bankers?!”

“What about…huh?” Hoarkin muttered…remembering.  Yes, now that he thought back on it, all the bodies he saw were of well-dressed…or naked…elegant individuals that didn’t look as if they knew swords from meat-skewers.  Some had looked like craftsmen…and some had been older, but a great preponderance of them had been very young, very good looking, half-naked types that appeared to have put up no fight whatsoever.

As if the Grim Reaper of the Idle Rich had come sweeping through.

“Good Light, you’re kidding!” Hoarkin said in horrified realization, “People are killing their accountants, bankers and mercantile agents?!  How awful!”

“You see?  You understand my plight now, good sir mage!  For years now, I have served the House of Chelantine as their agent in Stormwind.  Now that this newfangled magic bank exists, they decided they no longer needed me and turned me out into the streets!  Without even a severance package or a continuance of health care until I find a new job!  Cast me off like a worn pair of shoes, such disrespect…such disloyalty!”

“That doesn’t sound like a nice thing to do…”Hoarkin said, incredulous.

“But I was a lucky one, sir!  The more ruthless individuals and guilds decided that their men and women either knew too much or would somehow cause trouble and they began cutting them down, right there in the bank!  It was awful…the blood…the screams…all of my friends…” the erstwhile banker lost all measure of control now as the enormity of it hit him and he became insensate with wailing and gnashing of teeth.

Hoarkin watched him blubber and felt helpless.  He couldn’t think of anything that would help the poor man.  And he was worried…he had friends in the bank and agent business.  He hoped that they’d gotten away. 

“I’m sorry…what?” Hoarkin said, realizing that the man had stopped bawling.

“Might I have some more water?”

“Sure,” Hoarkin incanted, “There you go uh…Mr…”

“Fredsbank…Drizzt Eragon Starshine Fredsbank, at your service.”

“Uh…hmm…well there you go uh…Fred…er…you can call me Hoarkin…Hoark, or Hoarky I suppose.  I’m so sorry to hear all that.”

D.E.S. Fredsbank finished drinking his water and nodded glumly.

“But I thought you had just been sacked…did they change their minds?”

“N…no.  It was awful.  Like I said, the real sociopaths…evil men…the kinds you see fighting in the arenas…they all decided to execute…er…tie up their loose ends…and no one stopped them.  So then they went after everyone that was a banker…and then others joined in…it was like…like when you throw feed for gulls…they all started swarming…and then it started…the massacre.  Even nice people joined in…the bloodlust must have infected them.  It was so awful that some of my associates started throwing themselves from buildings instead of waiting to be torn apart!”

“The guards tried…they intervened…some even died…and they herded us toward the Cathedral, thinking that we’d be safe there…but you saw…I’m only fortunate in that I slipped in the blood and fell, stunned.  In the confusion, I think my group lost me.  Then I saw you, and the Light was kind, and here we are.”

“Well Fred…I think we’d best move on a little further.  I fear it may not be safe here…and I’m sure not going to leave you in Duskwood.  I think Booty Bay will have to be where you flee.  C’mon…get ready, we’d best be moving soon.”

---

“Hoarky, this place sucks,” Fredsbank said, looking out over the ramshackle collection of buildings, boats, boatbuildings and buildingboats that was the glory of Booty Bay.

“Yes, Fred, but they’re not gonna kill you…well, leastways not right off.”

“What am I going to do here?  I don’t want to go back to selling myself like…like…Goldshire” he whispered the word, shuddering, as if invoking the name of the place would transport him back to his life of bondage and well…bondage, “and there doesn’t look to be a lot available.”

“Well, Fred, y’see, I been thinkin’ on that.  I’m thinkin’ that people were too hasty.  I think that you should form your own Auxiliary Banking Guild.  I’m sure some wealthy noble or someone with a lot of stuff will want a safe place to keep things…and this new and bigger vault thingy would be cheaper than paying for all those bags that they originally gave you.  And you still have the bags that House Chelantine gave you.  So…you could do what you’ve always done…and, with a few greased palms to the guild registry people, you could form your own shell company and get a nice big warehouse to keep even more stuff.  And, technically, you could be a guild master…perhaps the Freds Bank guild or something…”

Fred’s eyes lit up.  “You might be on to something!  I’ll give that a shot.  But what if that doesn’t work out?”

“Well, you can hire on to a merchant ship…or a pirate ship…or join up with the Defias I suppose.  Worst case…lots of rich ladies come here to escape their boring husbands on long weekends…it’s not quite like selling yourself in Goldshire…for one thing you’ll likely be giving way more than receiving here…and for another, it’s a lovely climate!  And you might get to render services to some hot troll gals or blood elves.  Even orcs are fun, I hear…but I’m not sure about the tauren gals…”

Drizzt Eragon Starshine Fredsbank looked thoughtful for a moment.  Then he stuck out his hand and smiled, “I’ll do that.  That sounds like a great course of action…and even the losing scenario is still a win.  Thanks Hoarky, you’re a life saver.”

“Sure thing, Fred.  And trust me…your ‘raven tresses’ and ‘glittering emerald eyes’ will be a big hit down here with the ladies…and I’m sure they’ll want to know all about that scar…”

((Eridah and Kallya given credit in the tag cloud as having spurred the idea that became this post...we saw so many people named "bank" or "banker" queuing up at the guild bank things that we wondered what would happen to the poor little 1st levels in Dark Silk Shirts, Lovely Black Dresses, and Tuxedos.  Of course it was Eridah that jumped on the "about to die" angle...and I ran with it.  Thanks guys, that was fun))