Garnishment

"It is mutiny, then?" The Master stroked his chin with one finger.

"Mutiny? Rebellion! We're taking our land back!"

"So." He stood, his eyes shadowed. He smiled thinly. "I think it only fair, then, that I reclaim what is mine. I have paid you well for your services. A salary, they call it. From the Latin salus, for salt, in which their soldiers were paid." He clenched his fist, and the leader of the rebellion grew pale. He stammered a few incoherent syllables and collapsed.

The Master opened his fist and watched the white grains sift down. "Get back to work."

Missed Opportunity

When his chores were done, Droog spent his time hating the Master. It was easy; the Master did not exert much effort to make himself lovable. His castle was dark, damp, and full of screams. Droog's plans were complicated by the fact that no weapons were allowed within the Master's castle, but he was sure he would find a way, sooner or later.

When Droog found the Master lying dead, he was a little taken aback. There was no sign of who had done it; just the gently spreading pool of blood.

Droog shrugged and began to scrub the floors.

The Dread Greatsword Soulspike Was Safely Stored in His Employee Locker

"Doug, we need to talk," said Julie. She tugged on Draknar's spiked forearm gauntlet. "Come on into the huddle room."

Inside, Julie slid a form across the table. Underlined blanks were filled in with pen. "I hate to give a written this early," Julie said, "but I feel like you aren't listening otherwise."

Draknar held the paper between two metal-clad fingers. It began to scorch around the edges. "No," he mumbled. "I'm going to do this right." With an effort, he calmed himself.

"Speak up, Doug. Honestly," said Julie. "You're not the overlord here. You need to accept honest criticism."