The Butcher of Gadobhra-Chapter 539: Running with the pack

Ben was used to riding in all weather, day or night. But he was not used to riding a zombified snarlfang that considered him either cargo or a late-night snack. He was uncomfortable and worried at first as he and his mount ran along with the pack. He'd adapted to riding the creature easily, even with no saddle and only a handful of coarse fur to grip tightly. But where a horse would have been warm, his mount was cold, with no heartbeat and no breath. And it smelled like a wet dog. That smell was all around him, and he knew he'd have to endure it as long as he traveled with Chartok on his quest to thwart the invasion of chicken-stealing northern paladins. He was thankful for the pack of food and the bedroll that Rolly had brought to him.

He was lucky that a friend's quick thinking had brought him some food and comforts for the road. Rolly had come running out to Ben, surrounded by the packs of snarling, undead wolves without a care in the world. He even stopped to pet a few of them that wagged their tails at him. Chartok had watched him carefully through narrowed, suspicious eyes. He had a bedroll and two backpacks with him, one of which squawked as he arrived. Chartok sniffed the air twice. "Chickens? Do I smell the delightful scent of living, unfrozen chickens? For me?"

The Shepherd set the pack on the ground in front of him. "I found four of them hiding under a house. I thought you might want a snack while you travel. And I don't want Ben to annoy you with complaints about sleeping on the hard ground, so I brought some blankets for him, travel food, and two pairs of socks. Two legs are sort of squishy and they complain about sleeping on the cold ground."

One of the snarlfang bodyguards picked up the straps of the chicken pack in his mouth, but seemed unexcited about the smell that delighted the Necrowolf. Chartok was very pleased, "It's pleasant to meet a fellow who understands the value of a chicken dinner, and yes, I find a whining human annoying. Well, most humans, but whining ones are worse. Good of you to anticipate that. And excellent timing, we were just about to take off. I was only waiting on the small force I left to play with the Baron."

Over a hundred wargs, led by a pure white Snarlfang, came loping up, and the wolf packs opened a gap for them. The white Snarlfang came up to Ben, its tongue out and tail wagging. To his surprise, it gently bumped him with its head held low and made a plaintive whine. Rolly grinned, "He wants his ears scratched, Ben. He likes you." 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

Not knowing what else to do, Ben scratched behind the ears of the undead carnivore. Chartok walked around Rolly, sniffing. "I know that scent. Didn't you pull my tail once?"

Rolly grinned at him, "Yep, right before the Butcher hit us with a log and killed me. Good times. That was a fun adventure, my first big one in this world, and certainly the most memorable."

"Indeed, it was. We'll have to get together for another, but, sadly, I don't have time to hunt you through the woods and play right now. I have responsibilities as the Champion of Sedgewick and the Terror of the Hollywood. There are Paladins to annoy, confuse, and eat. Mount up, Courier. Goodboy will act as your mount. He's quite intelligent and playful. I'm sure you'll get along splendidly, now that you've made friends with him."

Rolly waved to them, "Look me up after the Paladins are dead. Being hunted through dark woods sounds fun. I'll be happy to play."

As they ran off into the night, Ben riding atop Goodboy and holding on tightly, he heard Chartok say, "Such an interesting fellow, hunting him will be fun."

Ben kept a grin off his face and said, "I'm sure it will be."

Ozzy contemplated the piles of dead wolves in front of him. The meat was lean with no fat, and it was stringy and tough. It was the last thing most butchers would consider as sausage meat. But Ozzy thought he saw a use for them. All of the carcasses were burned, and the fur was useless; the hides were inferior to sedge beast leather.

But they had to haul the stuff somewhere and get rid of it, so it might as well be sausage. Everything could be sausage.

Wagons were lined up, and the workers piled them high with dead wolves before hauling them to the sausage factory in Gadobhra. Ozzy's entrance into the Gadobhra Sausage Factory wasn't loud enough to wake his three minions from their deep slumber. The three had resisted the evil beds as long as they could, but eventually the beds won. Ozzy saw that the meat buckets were empty, and the sausage barrels were full of links that could be shipped to Sedgewick for smoking. The floor was reasonably clean, and most of their chores were done. Not necessarily done well, but they'd tried to get to everything on the list. Only Nod was injured, and it looked like they'd done a good job of sewing his leg back on. Compared to when they'd first arrived, this was an amazing improvement. He decided they could sleep in a bit longer and left the wagon loads of wolf parts for them to deal with, and step-by-step instructions. He had too many jobs at the moment, and he was sure they could handle this one. Reasonably sure. Sort of sure. After a moment more thought, he decided he'd come back in a few hours and check in on them.

The Snarlfangs were a different story. Their fur was tough and had resisted most of the fire, only charring a little. They were skinned, and the carcasses taken into Ozzy's smaller sausage works behind his butcher shop. Runt gave him a hand with them, the two of them reducing them to piles of meat, guts, and bones. Their cleavers chopped through the tough meat and heavy bone, moving fast, and blood flying. It wasn't a pretty sight, the epitome of 'how the sausage got made.'

Runt eyed the results with a skeptical eye. "These things are mostly sinew and stringy meat without an ounce of fat."

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Ozzy nodded, "Yeah, not something I'd normally turn into sausage without adding a good chunk of hellpig lard into the mix, but this is for a special customer."

"Trying to kill someone? We should let the meat rot a little first."

"Naw, not that type of 'special.' Let's say he has a certain type of food he likes and is used to. I want to course grind the spines and rib bones first, to add some texture and crunch. Don't worry if there are some large chips. We'll use coarse, grade F groats as filler, rock salt, fennel, sage, and thyme. Go heavy on the salt. And we can toss in the hearts and livers to the mix, he'll like that. Then soak the links for a day in dark mana and hang them to cure for a week. No smoke."

Runt tilted his head and stared at the Butcher. "Those things are going to be as hard as a rock when they cure, and break knives if you try and slice them. What sort of monster are you...OH SHIT. NO, NO, NO. Tell me these are not for HIM!"

Ozzy grinned, "Sorry, you made me promise not to bullshit you. Don't worry, you don't have to help with delivery."

"The hell I don't! You can't just roll these into the pit like you shovel in the guts. Every idiot will want to try some, and half of it won't make it down to him. Nope, we're taking this delivery in by the front door, and you're making the Squealer sign for it and be personally responsible for the delivery. He'll hate that, and I want to see his face when he realizes what's happening. Hmm, we should add black peppercorns and firewood ashes to the mix. The brigade liked to cook their sausage in the ashes of burning cities, that will add a nostalgic touch to the flavor."

"An excellent suggestion, Butcher Runt."

"Why, thank you, Butcher Ozzy. Now, let's get to work on these masterpieces. They need to be hard enough to break a dragon's teeth. And we'll need a lot of them if he likes the recipe. And we should only give him one barrel to start. No reason to show our hand too early by telling him we have a wagonload of sausage. Finding another Snarlfang horde may be tough."

"I hope you're right on that, but somehow I think there will be no shortage of winter wargs for a while.

A week later, two Butchers strode up to the gates of the Pit and went inside. Both were covered in dried blood from a little emergency session of butchering. As they'd passed the pens, a pair of Blood Gorger Hippos made it over the fences by leaping to the backs of their fellows to gain the height needed to make it over the top rail of the fence. It had been a long, hard fight, with Runt avoiding damage by never being where they charged, then attacking from behind, crippling their legs and slowing the creatures to a crawl. Ozzy stood his ground and fought with his hog slicer, spraying blood and gore everywhere. The other hippos watched the fight and decided to hold off on escaping until later. They gutted and prepared the carcasses and dumped the parts into the opening to the pit where Oink would find them and turn them into more of his monsters.

The minions of the pit observed from their hiding spots as the two Butchers advanced down the hallway, leaving bloody tracks behind them. Runt took out a pouch of coins and shook it up and down, the jingling sound carrying down into the pit to where Squealer heard it. "Coins? Attend me, my minions. Rouse the creatures of the pit! Someone foolish has entered and brought me more shinies for my chests." To his disappointment, no dead adventurers awaited him, only the carcasses of three Gristle Daemons, a gaggle of minions hiding in a corner from Runt, and Ozzy standing in the center, practicing katas with his weapon. He slowed his weapon, sheathed it, and beckoned to Squealer.

"I've got a delivery for downstairs, and I want you to make sure it gets there."

Squealer crept forward. "Deliveries cost money! Give me the shinies I heard!"

Runt walked up to him, enjoying the way the much larger creature backed a step away. Squealer might have been in the Butcher's Brigade once, but he'd eagerly taken on the job of paymaster for the pit, and over the long years lost whatever physical power he'd had. Only his position close to the Butcher of Gadobhra kept him from a series of unfortunate accidents. Runt pulled out two copper coins and tossed them in the air. "This is what you get, and more than you deserve. That barrel goes to the Butcher, right next to his throne where he keeps his snacks. And I'll know if it's opened or doesn't get there."

Squealer's little pig-like eyes narrowed. "And if I don't like the deal?"

Runt shrugged, "They we cut you into tiny pieces, slowly, while you scream and everyone laughs, and turn you into sausage. Then we take it down there ourselves. Not like either of us hasn't been there before. And on the way out? We'll stop by your cave and see what we can find. If you ever get put back together, you'll be wishing you had two coppers to your name."

Squealer looked from Ozzy to Runt, weighed the situation in his mind, and took the two coppers. Runt grinned, "Nice doing business with you, Squealer. Sign this work order. Not that we don't trust you, but...well, no one trusts you."

Later, when the Butcher awoke from a weeklong nap, his hand quested for his pile of treats and found the barrel. "What the hell is this? Snarlfang Sausage, made in Sedgewick? The baby Butcher sent me a present. Better be good or I'll rip his arms off." He ripped the top off the barrel and shoved a handful of hard, black links into his mouth, starting to chew. Whatever was in his mouth was almost unchewable, and it was only with ten minutes of hard work did he finally manage to chew them up and swallow them down. He picked up another and slammed it on a large skull, shattering the thick bone.

"Holy shit! What did he make these out of? They're great. Brings back memories of burning hives and wading through bug guts. That little bastard is getting better. My jaw is actually sore. HEY!, one of you worthless shits tell Squealer I want more of these."