[centre][h1]The Pike of Southbank[/h1] [h2]Humble Beginnings[/h2][/centre] [hr] “Dear reader, Before you continue, I gotta warn ya: I am not a nice lady. This will not be a story of a pretty little princess who grew up in her little room up in the Paint Caves, who had the mommy and the daddy and the fat-ass inheritance. Ain’t gonna be any magic school, no little ponies in the meadows, no handsome prince, none of that! Nah, this here’s a story from the [i]real[/i] Tricity, the real oh-gee snoutahumpin’ Southbank, baby, my humble lil’ [i]alma mater[/i]. A brief introduction, of course: I–yours truly–am the Mama Zazah Chipotle (that’s ribbit for “bad ass”). Between myself and my fellow greens, ain’t nobody had this much moolah this side of the Belt. See, I am what’s known on the streets as an “ahntreyprehnuhr”. I run a business, a little something-something I call the Guild of Green. Whenever there’s trouble in the Bank, people come to me. Why? ‘Cuz I get problems solved, dearie. Now, you might be asking: What problems you got, luv? To which I answer, which don’t I? The Southbank is a jungle, a beast-eat-beast world. It is just across the river from the bloody paintos, yet the difference here is night and day. The Council? They don’t care about us. And we, hehe, don’t care about them. So, you’ve probably already got me figured out: Mama Zazah, rich goblin bitch and one of the top bugs of the Bank. Think again: I might be rich, dearie, but I ain’t alone. Like I said, this is a battlefield. Whot’s a little lady to do against big’uns like the Tuskless Cartel, the Nighthowlers or the Rolly Boys? Whatever I can do to get rid of ‘em, that’s whot. So, where does that leave us? I suppose I oughta tell you how I got here. Well, it’s kind of a long story, but–” [hr] [h1]SPLASH![/h1] Zazah woke up with a start. Her face and torso were ice cold and soaked. She gasped for breath, snorted and coughed. Her vision was blurry, but she could tell the room was dimly lit. It reeked of fish, which indicated that they were somewhere on the World Belt River, but she had no idea where. Only thing she knew was that she was bound to a chair and could hardly move. Before her stood three shadows, the girth of which determined that they could only be snouters, large goblins or some kind of bearlike beastfolk. “She’s awake, boss.” A furry hand clasped around her cheeks, squeezing her lips into a funnel. Zazah squealed and focused her eyes into the clearing face of a tiger. Fuck, she thought, it’s Pozan. Ten-Stripes Pozan, a bulky beastman with orange fur, round eyes and, contrary to his name, a lot of black stripes, leaned in close until they were less than an inch apart. His breath rank of smoked fish. “The rat awakens… Finally…” He released his grip with a twist that nearly snapped a neck tendon and started pacing in front of her. Zazah coughed some more and struggled to remain stone-faced. “... Look, Pozan…” The tiger growled in response. “I did not squeal.” “Ho-ho-ho, much too late for that now, little Zazah. The time for excuses is over!” he crescendoed. He reached out a hand and one of his lackeys gave him a sharpening stone. The tiger flexed the claws on his left hand and began to sharpen them slowly and menacingly. “Only way you’re getting out of this now is to squeal more.” He squatted down in front of her. “Names.” “Look, Pozan, I–AH!” A hot sear pumped out of her right cheek, where three fresh, bloody stripes now wept forth tears of blood. The act had been almost too fast for eyes to see, but Pozan’s eyes were bloodshot and unblinking. He looked like he could see through her very soul. “Names.” A few seconds passed and then Zazah nodded slowly. “... Ch-Chinny.” “Good, good,” said the tiger softly while one of his lackeys noted it down. “Keep going.” “... L-Lem.” “A lot of Lems here, Zazah.” “Wetfoot! Wetfoot.” “Wetfoot, too, huh…” The sharpening stone switched hands and the tiger took a moment to study the claws on his right hand. “A shame. I liked him. Give him a swift death, make a note of that.” The lackey complied and the tiger’s eyes settled on Zazah once more. “Did I say to stop?” Zazah shook her head and pressed her lips together. Her eyes dared look around for an exit–any exit, but the tiger stopped her in her tracks. “Eyes here, little rat, or you’ll get a matching scar on the other side.” “Okay, okay… Hmph…” The tiger pouted. “Oh, come now, you still have so much more to give! I know there are two more at least and, hey, if you can surprise me, I might just cut your jugular vein before I start spreading your rib cage open just like the lids of that pretty little box your friends stole from me.” He tickled the underside of her chin with his claws, drawing blood. “Come on, comeoncomeoncomeon, come out and play, little secrets!” “D-D-Descindi!” The tickling immediately stopped. The tiger’s maniacal smile immediately turned to a stone-cold frown. His lackeys quickly exchanged nervous looks. The tiger leaned in close again and whispered, “That’s a lie.” “It isn’t.” “That’s a filthy FUCKING LIE!” He picked up a nearby chair and smashed it against the wall. “DON’T you [i]slander[/i] my blood-brother’s name like that.” “IT’S TRUE!” “I WILL CARVE A FUCKING REGENERATION RUNE INTO YOUR HEART SO THAT IT KEEPS BUMPING WHILE I FLAY YOU IF YOU DON’T FUCKING TAKE THAT BACK!” He grabbed her by the throat and squeezed so hard that Zazah was certain this was the end. However, little by little, the grip loosened. This was it–he knew. He already knew. Zazah swallowed through the pressure and managed to squeeze out, “Ask him where he was during the attacks.” With that, the tiger let her go completely and stepped back. He paced in frustration, fingers alternating between massaging his chin and running over his scalp. He eventually turned to two of his lackeys. “Find him. Find him right now and do not [i]fucking[/i] rest until you find him.” As the other two sprinted out of the hut, he turned to the last one. “You. Kill her.” The lackey unsheathed a dagger. “H-HEY! I helped you, gods damn it!” “And now you’re useless to me. Make it quick and then come look for him.” With that, the tiger sprinted out too. The remaining lackey, a fat shesnouter with no tusks shifted her glance over to the goblin and approached with a quick pace. She shifted the grip on the hilt before settling on an upwards stabbing motion. Then he went around her back and cut the robes holding her. Zazah immediately pulled them off her and patted her cheek. “Fuck, that was close.” “That’s an understatement,” mumbled the shesnouter and sheathed the dagger again. “I haven’t seen him that angry in, well, at least a month.” Zazah patted some dust off of her tunic and hurried over to a nearby table where most of her stuff still remained. “How far do you reckon they’ve gotten?” The shesnouter stealthily peered out the doorway. “I’d say to the market, just about.” “Perfect. Stuff me in that sack.” The shesnouter did as told, but not before they had thoroughly smeared the bottom with as much fish guts from a nearby corner as they could. They added some of the guts to the sack, giving it a mouldy-looking colour. The shesnouter sighed at the shabby presentation, but shook her head. “Fuck it, that’ll do. They’ll come looking for me soon.” Zazah held her breath and crawled into the sack and the shesnouter swung her over her back. “UGH! Disgusting!” “Sssh! Pretend you’re a corpse,” the shesnouter said before she exited the hut, which proved to be part of a warehouse. They were on the Breaker’s Pier, a small village built on poles in the river between the Southbank and the Northbank of Tricity. Despite copious access to fish, rice and floatatoes, this part of the city just didn't seem to want to grow wealthy. Something would always hold it back, and that something was crime. They passed bugkeepers attending to the many boatbugs along the pier, shoveling wet kelp into waterborne troughs from which the huge insects ate greedily. Fishermen and pondkeepers eyed the shesnouter with shaded glances, mumbling amongst themselves and occasionally spitting. Merchants lined the pier selling the fruits of the river, engaging in a shouting competition with the river birds. She would occasionally pass small bands, typically two-four youngsters, dressed in rags with one or two extremely out-of-place high-value trinkets: a gold ring, a silver earpiece, ruby-covered brass knuckles. These sorts were the source of all the woes of the Southbank. And it wasn't that Zazah necessarily thought herself better than them. She just wanted to be in charge. The shesnouter didn't stop until they were way across the river, deep into the rice fields on the Southbank. Here, snouters sat chewing straws in the shade and croakers squatted by the paddies to study the growth rate of the fishes living in them. Goblin merchants stood and haggled with some of the farmers, but other than that, this place was tranquil, almost safe. The shesnouter entered a small shack by a poorly maintained floatato pond. Once inside, she finally opened the sack and let Zazah out on the floor. The goblin rolled out on the wood and had to keep herself from vomiting. “Blergh… Fucking disgusting.” “You're welcome,” replied the shesnouter dryly. “Yeah, right… Thanks.” The goblin stumbled over to a basin of cloudy water and doused her face and body. She unlidded a jar next to the basin and stuck her hand in; when it came out, it was covered in white ash, which she rubbed into her hands and washed off quickly. “I was so close…” “It was a gamble to begin with.” “Soooo daaaaamn [i]close[/i]!” snarled the goblin and stomped over to a small table and sat down on the floor. The shesnouter was making a small fire in a cracked, bulbous hearth. While she inspected a small clay pot for damages, the goblin continued to fume: “The promotion was mine. Pozan knew I was loyal.” A chuckle. “You were never fucking loyal, little rat…” “Well, I kept up appearances, didn’t I?!” She slouched over and crashed her face into the table top. “Where did I go wrong, Hysha?” The shesnouter Hysha spat into the clay pot and rubbed its insides with a tar-black rag. “Who’s to say? In this business, just knowing too much might be enough. Considering you knew about Descindi’s betrayal, well…” She turned to face her, a knowing look on her face. “You knew too much.” “He’ll probably be coming for me now, too. Fuck…” The concave clay pot amplified the noise of Hysha adding a bunch of peas to it then filling it with water from a small vase. “Nah, he’ll have his hands full with Pozan. You, on the other hand, gotta lay low and find some way to start over. I doubt anyone in the Pikes will want to have anything to do with you now. But hey, look on the bright side! Between Pozan and Descindi, one’s bound to kill the other, so when that’s done, you’ll only have to deal with one of them!” She paused. “You’re certain he did it, right?” Zazah sighed and rubbed her eyes with a groan. “Yeah, pretty sure. Pozan had entrusted the location of the artifact to me, but I figured sharing it with Des was no problem. I didn’t actually expect him to steal it.” Hysha cut a smirk. “... But you wanted him to, didn’t you?” Zazah snickered back. “Pffft. And start a gang-wide war between the two highest ranking members?” She winked. “Maybe.” [hider=SummaREE!] Meet Zazah - the up-and-coming gang boss of the Tricity Southbank. Except not really. She wakes up bound to a chair in an unknown place and gets accused of being a rat. Her gang superior, Ten-Stripes Pozan, tells her to give up the names of all who stole something from him, a box of sorts. She gives up a bunch, one of whom is a fellow named Descindi, blood-brother of Pozan. Pozan is furious, but evidently too suspecting to let it go. He tells his lackeys to go find him except for one whom he tells to kill Zazah. After he leaves, it turns out that the lackey who remained is the shesnouter Hysha, a friend of Zazah’s. She stuffs her in a sack and smuggles her out into the countryside where they shack up in a, well, shack. Here they talk about what happened and it turns out that Zazah may have told the location of the box to Descindi intentionally to start a war in the gang. Woops. [/hider]