Sweet-Toothed Savages Episode 6

Written by: Paul Holmes

Episode 6: Benny Flambe

Days turned to weeks as Steve (Fudgey Steve to those lesser beings on the message
board), spent most of his hours gazing out over the port of Stormgrave looking for the
Carn-EVIL Clipper to crest the horizon. In fact, that was what he was doing only ten
minutes prior.

 

Now, Steve found himself on the other side of a table from Svein Tjugeskjegg, King of
Scorrah, and more importantly, Waenn’s father.

 

Expecting the same silent routine as every day previous, Steve loaded his plate with
meats, cheeses, and pastries and then poured a goblet of red wine. When the King
spoke, Steve nearly spluttered wine on the monarch out of shock.

 

“Your compatriots should have arrived nearly a fortnight past, and yet here we are,
awaiting them still.” The King took a sip of his own wine, gazing at Steve as if seeing
him for the first time. “Should they fail to arrive, what do I do with you? For your part in
my daughter’s abduction, I should, by all rights have you executed. Slowly.” He paused
as if imagining it briefly.

 

“However, you have been quiet, respectful, and …. bathing regularly, you seem to be
harmless enough. If I have you executed, and the Savages arrive after, I will have
angered them while Waenn is still in their claws.”

 

Steve almost responded but saw that the King had seemed to have drifted off into
thought and was not expecting an answer.

 

In his peripheral vision, a tiny dot of moment.

 

Steve turned towards the harbor. There it was! Covered in sticky slime and meaty
chunks, it was the second most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

 

Steve wasn’t allowed to greet the Carn-EVIL, out of a “spirit of caution”. Steve was sure
that the move was part of an intended prisoner exchange. When he mulled it over, he
couldn’t find a fault in the logic.

 

That evening, Steve sat with the King at a small, table set against the castle wall, just
outside of the Castle entrance. The Clipper docked and began unloading into the Plaza
of Endurance. Steve brought the camera up to his eye, aimed it at the plaza and
pressed ‘Record’.

 

The crew were setting up the largest exhibition Steve had seen thus far. Roustabouts
assembled the rides, vendors’ stalls and the midway exhibits. Randy’s Cotton Candy
booth sat next to Frankie’s Frostbite Treats. Off to the side, the trick-shooting range was
taking form with DJ Kernelz riding herd over the crew as they placed targets and
haybales.

 

Something pricked the back of Steve’s brain. Something wasn’t right. He’d watch them
set up enough times to know something was off. He scanned back and forth across the
carnival that was rapidly taking shape, looking for the wrongness.

 

It didn’t look right. Then it hit him: he was used to seeing the bright colors of the booths
and stalls, the bright, multi-colored lights strung everywhere. This was not the same set
up. Everything looked disheveled and muted. Rips and stains showed on cloth
everywhere he looked. The displays looked not just old, but ancient. The lights were
everywhere, but there were as many dead bulbs as working ones.

 

And what were those roustabouts doing rolling all those barrels throughout the carnival
and surrounding its edges? Steve jumped out of his seat, intending on locating Rumguts
and asking him what was going on. He felt the bony fingers of an undead guard apply
pressure to his shoulder, forcing him back into his seat.

 

He turned to the King who gave him a dead-eyed glare with a finger to his lips. Steve
sighed, sat, and remained watching.

The sun was setting as the Savages finished setting up and turned on the snaggle-
toothed multi-colored lights. The skeletal organist began to play the Siouxsie and the
Banshees’ song, “Cities in Dust.”

 

At first, the Carnival moved along as normal, but soon Steve began to hear distant
howls of pain. He scanned the midway, and saw Randy, Frankie, and many of the
others “vanishing” members of the populace. It was no time before someone noticed,
terror worked its way through the throng of patrons. Soon, a panic began to grow.

 

King Svein leapt up and began issuing orders to his guard. Steve sat, slack jawed as
the carnage grew. The crew had never been this blatant before.

 

An ear-slicing screech erupted. The calliope player had leaned forward and slammed
his arm bones down across of the keys.

 

Everything stopped. All humans, citizens and guards alike, covered their ears trying to
block the cacophony. The skeletal warriors stopped dead. They didn’t feel the pain of
the noise; just confusion as to how to proceed.

 

Opportunity presented, Steve bolted away from the King and sprinted towards the
Midway.

 

A slim cloaked figure, hood covering head, ran past Steve, heading in the opposite
direction. A glimpse of golden hair and Steve knew who it was running for the Castle.
The Princess was running for home. He stopped, turned. aching to follow, but the
moment passed and the calliope fell silent, to be replaced by the booming voice of
Captain Radke. Steve saw the Captain standing in the middle of a cleared area of the
midway.

 

“Agreement honored, your Majesty,” the pirate captain swept an arm in front of him,
bending at the waist in a sarcastic bow.

 

“However, it is now time for us fulfill another promise. One made many centuries ago.”
At the docks, the clown-faced Savages were dragging a last handful of Scorrans to the
ship.

 

The carnival structures were being left empty as the crew abandoned them and headed
for their ship. “Before the Fracture, I asked your ancestor, King Olavi for the opportunity
to perform for his people. I received not just a rejection, but an insult in the form of the
head of my messenger.” The Captain fingered the rum-soaked cleaver on his belt.

 

“Years later, we returned and spoke to Olavi’s son, King Armas. You fork-bearded
bastards must have protocols on how to be an asshole. Olavi’s son responded as his
father had. This time I had done him the honor of sending my own nephew as envoy.
Showing respect for the crown, and all that.” Rumguts spat on the ground.

 

His voice, now a low growl, but still booming. He pulled the cleaver and ran his thumb
along the edge of the blade.

 

Rumguts took a deep breath. Steve, realizing he was between the King and the
Captain, ducked behind the row of empty carnival structures and crept slowly towards
the ship. He could see the last person had boarded the ship, but now a solitary
individual swaggered forth.

 

The newcomer was thin with a shock of bright red hair. He wore a waxed leather coat
and carried two things: a curved scimitar and a bottle of some liquid. He saw Steve
skulking and gave him a wink and jerked his head towards the ship, telling him to get his
ass on board.

 

Benny Flambe! He was a freaking psycho, even for the SweetTooth Savages. Steve
was certain he had kicked puppies in his youth. This was bad. Really, really bad.

 

The skeletal organist had remained at the calliope, and Steve realized this as soon as
that peculiar instrument began to play a macabre rendition of Iced Earth’s “Burnt
Offerings.”

 

“Finally,” Captain Radke began again, “After Armas’s sudden demise at the hand of a
lady of the evening with a straight razor, a cousin of Armas was crowned. Good old,
Pekko. Pekko the Pure. Pekko the Penitent, Pekko the PRICK!” Rumguts screamed the
last word, spittle flying from his mouth.

 

“As a response to a third request to perform for the good people of Scorrah, Pekko the
Pathetic sicced his pet Necromancer on us. Juuso Ikuinen, Juuso the Immortal. We
were anchored a few hundred yards from the docks of Stormgrave when we received
our answer.”

 

Rumguts lifted his cleaver and with a swift motion, sliced his left hand off cleanly at the
wrist. No blood, no gore. A clean and sterile cut that should not have been.

 

Steve glanced back and saw Benny approaching one of the barrels he had noticed
earlier. Benny took a long pull off of his bottle, and simply by glancing at his scimitar it
erupted in flames along the curved blade.

Rumguts continued, “Juuso, at the orders of King Pekko laid an eternal curse upon the
carnival and crew. We were never to be allowed the comfort of an eventual death. We
would feel no pain.”

 

He pointed his cleaver at King Svein. “Sounds like a pretty cherry deal, doesn’t it? We
would have eternity to cruise the seas of Skalmarune, performing for anyone and
everyone, eventually becoming legendary.”

 

“It was a few days before we realized something was wrong,” Rumguts continued.
“Food and drink became disgusting. Inedible. Indigestible. Through trial and error, we
discovered that we had to consume human flesh to continue.”

 

Steve watched as Benny leaned back, taking in a deep breath.

 

“We didn’t have to eat human meat, but if we didn’t, we shriveled and shrank until we
would be locked into an emaciated meatsuit for eternity.”

 

Benny blew out his breath. Liquid from his bottle ignited once it touched the flame of the
sword. The fire touched the wooden barrel. It began to burn.

 

Rumguts lowered his cleaver, and though his voice seemingly quiet, it still carried to the
castle and the King of Scorrah’s ears. “I wish I could say I’m sorry, but ye brought this
upon yourselves.” Captain Rumguts Radke turned and slowly walked towards the Carn-
EVIL Clipper as the first barrel exploded, setting off the second, then the third, and so
on.

 

Steve watched in horror as explosions of fire blossomed throughout the capital city of
Scorrah, and he realized that Rumguts must have had agents strategically placing
barrels of flammable material throughout the city over the last weeks.

 

Fire raged throughout the plaza, and Steve watched as red-orange flowers of
destruction erupted one by one across the city. As the Carn-EVIL Clipper pulled anchor
and departed, Steve almost thought he could hear someone calling his name from
amidst the screams of pain and terror that now consumed the capital city of Scorrah.