The Squirming Brain Of The Ex-slave Lee Tobicheaux

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Hitman Hard
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The Squirming Brain Of The Ex-slave Lee Tobicheaux

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My granddaddy told meh' Thay been sowin' misery for a long time, efor' sum gods come alive. I was eating dinneh; boiled crab and lobster when mah employer got a smug grin on him and thayan burst through the double-doors, led by some bald man. He call himself red wizard--his scalp had ugly marks on it--I could see tha evil in his eyes, yes suh.

He said he was gonna take me away to be enslaved and yes suh I was. I was taken away.

Were alot of war prisoners, some of em mean as the slavemasters, say they frum Rashemen efor' they had their stuff taken too.
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Early 1300's, Deep in Thay
Had me a-mining right next to this Rashemi, with a name too-long for me ta say so I call'd em pitchfork cause of a burn on his head shaped like one but he didn't like that too much and t'hrew me into the furnace almost. I didn't even try ta fight back-- my hands weighed down at ma' sides like cinderblocks-- I sworn off violence when I was child and taken Chauntea oath. The air was thick with the smell of oil and armour-forging and one of the slavemasters came up but I done swear he appeared out the air. And I ain't sure he was man either, no face s'upposed to look like that. The pale, hollow skeleton face with hook-gashes that twisted up the corners of his mouth into a wererat's grin, hair black as the night combed back with an abundance of oilly-gel, the eyes that could drown the innocence out of any spirit. He never talk much but he gave warnin' then.
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Rashemi tole meh tha thayans trade in all kinds of goods: fruit, grains, jewelry, magic items, but I wasn't listening much as my back was starting ta hurt from raking in the fields. They had us carry canvas-rolled mounds of fertilizin' dirt up these hills that stretched on for endless miles and when one slave started ta lag behind he'd get twenty-thirty lashes. And alot of the land wasn't that pretty, too many mountains and undead scrambling up them at any time of tha day.
****
The slavemaster stared silenty at them, the Rashemi had gotten out of line and punched Lee several times. He smiled and nodded in his mind, finding it effective enough punishment. He said in a glassy voice that was chillingly otherworldly, "Both of you. . . over there."
He flicked out a short-sword and advanced towards the Rashemi and Lee, who both trembled by the furnace like wees. Lee asked through his sobbing, "Why you have to be so hard?"

But the slavemaster was slashing down at them in a depraved glee, Lee and the Rashemi screamed, the slavemaster began to laugh. A dark pool of blood formed and once the slavemaster had left. . . Lee cried and wriggled back and forth in a corner like a wounded whale who circles the lake and lets out a high-pitched wail for the family it had lost.
Molder: Editor of The Tribune
Valiant: Shrewd, sadistic disguise-strategist; retiring


Good guys are such cliche clones, inevitably.
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