Rogues and Renegades

The non-competition version (because the non-competition world has no damn WORD LIMITS). So, i'll post the rest of the story here. if I win anything (highly doubting that, btw) i'll transfer the chapters to the other movella. But I don't know. I write stories because I love doing it XD

Cover by Secrets Unfold.


45. 44

The Gate-Keeper sighed as he watched his customers fill themselves with the slow-poison that he served. He knew it was bad for them. He knew it was bad for anyone.
But it wasn't anything personal. It was just good business.
And what better business than to sell an addictive narcotic to peoples who believed it their culture to consume it?
But the Gate-Keeper - he was getting sick of his job. He wanted to retire to his home in Eversby. He wanted to go back to his people. He wanted to feel the sun on his face, the sand between his fingers.

The Gate-Keeper made a mental note to write to the Lord and Lady of Eversby concerning this.

“It's Aesc, right?”
The Gate-Keeper was pulled away from his thoughts and looked at the Customer in front of him, sitting at the counter. The Gate-Keeper knew him, though vaguely. He was a good Customer, almost at the Gateway every night.
The Gate-Keeper put on his trademark smile and said, “What can I get you?”
“I already ordered a drink,” replied the Customer, “But I'm kind of a huge fan of this place. I was hoping... Well... I was hoping to ask...”
“Could... could I take a look in the back?”
The Gate-Keeper scoffed, “There's nothing special back there,” he pointed a thumb over his shoulder.
“All the same. I mean, the club is sitting right between dimensional-plates. I just want to see what it all looks like.”

The Gate-Keeper paused. He had never allowed a customer passed the counter before. It wasn't an explicitly-stated crime to pass it, but it wasn't advised either.
Against his better judgement, the Gate-Keeper lifted a compartment of the counter and allowed the Customer in.
What was the worst that could happen?
As the Customer entered the staff-room, he circled around it, “ooh”ing and “ah”ing at practically anything. The Gate-Keeper - who stood by the open door, leaning against the frame - found it odd, but he didn't say anything.
It was nice to have a fan, after all.

“What... what's this?” asked the Customer.
The Gate-Keeper went up to the Customer and took a look, furrowing a brow, “What's what?” he managed to ask - just before a sharp painful object tore into his back. He tried to cry out, but the Customer covered the Gate-Keeper's mouth. The Customer kept a grim expression, and ripped the dagger back out - feeling the slippery, thick blood spill over his crisp white shirt.
“I...” the Gate-Keeper murmured, “I don't understand. Why... why?”
“It needed to be done,” said the Customer simply.
“Who... who the hell are you?” spat the Gate-Keeper, as the Customer lowered him to the ground, “Who the damn hell put you up to this?”

“I don't expect you to remember my name, but I'm Theodore Radcliffe. For too long, Earth has been under the rule of powerful but misled kings. The Witch-Queen of Skye said that if I removed you, Earth would be returned to its rightful rulers - the elves.”

“But... but my people will enslave yours!”
“As was their purpose.”
“You will be stopped,” said the Gate-Keeper, “You won't succeed in this... Not if the mercenary finds out!”
“Haven't you heard?” the Customer laughed, “The mercenary is dead.”
The Gate-Keeper's eyes widened on hearing this, his breathing becoming laboured, “Mariqah...” he sighed one final time.


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