Layla was relaxing - as much as she could right now. A comfy robe, a glass of wine...and an endless string of reports and forms that she had to fill out for her bosses. Sedgewick was the most profitable of the hundreds of small villages ACME had taken over. It was also leading in land acquisition, projected revenue, and building points. It didn't feel like it.

This was how things worked at ACME. When you were on top, half the people wanted to know how you did it so they could copy your strategies, and the other half wanted to find flaws so they could tear you down and make their own projects better. Usually, their success would have meant that Billy's direct superior would also be successful and would provide some shielding from other departments. It wasn't going to happen in this case. While Billy didn't have Vern breathing down his neck, he wasn't free of him.

Vern knew where too many skeletons were hidden. They were going to have to be a lot more successful before someone would risk Vern's wrath and give Billy some protection from other managers and Vern himself. Which meant that several times a week she logged out of the online world and worked in the real world. Billy, on the other hand, seemed more and more reluctant to leave the game. She was starting to wonder what he was planning.

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In the Pit of the Butcher, something stirred and a small bell rang.

A massive throne made from the frozen carcasses of hundreds of creatures squatted upon a mound of yellowed bones. The hides of large animals covered the construction of meat and fat. Upon the throne a giant being slept, a well chewed bone still clutched in one hand. Scars crisscrossed its body, interrupted by clumps of coarse hair and odd lumps. Short, bowed legs ended in oversized, three-toed feet. Two equally large hands rested on a distended belly while a misshapened lump of a head perched on top of its chest. If it had a neck it was hidden under folds of fatty skin.

Leaning against the throne was an equally large cleaver. The blade itself was the size of a door - with a five-foot log for a handle. It gleamed in the frozen hall with a soft red glow.

The hall the throne occupied was huge, frozen, and silent. Part abattoir, part feast hall people and creatures were frozen throughout it, the remains of a long-ago party sat entombed under an icy spell. In the center, a dark pit sat, cold ashes and burnt bones filling it up. Strange creatures were face down on a huge wooden table, slumped in chairs, or sleeping beneath them. A pile of rib bones and empty mugs made a display on the table’s center.

Around the outside, chains hung from the ceiling, the sharp hooks at their ends holding icy carcasses of slaughtered creatures, frozen gristle-beasts, meat demons, and a large number of humans and elves in druidic robes.

The Butcher of Gadobhra still slept soundly, but for the first time in many long years it had moved. Thick fingernails had scratched an itch on its belly and it shifted slightly in the fur-covered throne. A small string attached to one of its toes ran to the floor and down a drain to a small room with a straw pallet and a sleeping occupant. The walls of the room were filled with small scratches in neat rows and columns, marking off the days and counting the years. At some point there was no room left to make marks and instead was written. "Ah, screw it!"

Ding-a-ling went the bell, and the small creature rolled over in a panic, untangling itself from the old rags it used as blankets.

Runt's eyes came wide open, confirming the moving bell and the sound. He'd had nightmares of sleeping too soundly while the bell rang. He jumped to his feet...foot rather, for he had only one. One leg ended in peg-leg carved from the femur of an animal.

Runt grabbed his cane and began hobbling quickly down the hallway, one eye always on the lookout for a wandering monster. Frozen and nearly empty, this was still a dungeon. It would be dumb to have waited this long and then get careless at the end and be killed by some low-level monster.

At first glance, Runt might be mistaken for a stocky, adolescent human. He had pink skin, was about four foot tall, and had the right number of fingers, toes, eyes and ears. (Well, if you discounted the missing foot.) His eyes were a lovely shade of green. However, a few things would have made it difficult to pass entirely as human. His ears were tall, hairy, and would look better on a boar. His nose was large, flat, and unmistakably pig-like. A small, wispy beard grew from his chinny-chin-chin.

A quick trip down the corridor and up a flight of stairs brought Runt to the Butcher's throne room. Careful not to slip on the icy floor or to make a sound, he moved to one frozen creature in particular who was hanging upside-down by a meat-hook through its left leg. Turning a well-oiled crank on the wall, Runt lowered the chain until the lump of frozen meat came to rest on the floor. With surprising strength for one so small, he removed the meat-hook, tossed the frozen thing on his shoulder, and silently left the room.

Retracing his steps, he grabbed his bag of his belongings. Sack over one shoulder, and dragging the icy lump behind him, he made his way to the dungeon exit. Once outside, he continued to a mostly intact stone building. Like the rest of the city, it had seen better days. Above the door was a faded wooden sign with barely legible lettering that proclaimed this to be The Butchers Guild of Gadobhra.

Cobwebs and dust filled the interior and fat spiders scurried away as Runt moved inside and lit torches by snapping his fingers. Waiting was a huge pot filled with water. In prior years it had been used to render down fat during land-whale season. If all went well, it would be used for that purpose again. But tonight, Runt wanted to cook up something else. He lit the pile of wood beneath it, and when the water was hot, tossed the still frozen pile of meat, that at one time had been his boss, into the pot.

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Runt watched the steaming pot, hoping for some sign of life, "If you don't wake up, Gristle, I'm going to toss in carrots and onions and make a stew out of you!"

A few minutes later, a head broke the surface of the pot, sputtering and taking great gulps of air. Clambering from the pot of now boiling water, the man collapsed onto the floor. He was strange looking, as if his parts didn't really fit together. Like a patchwork doll made from different types of cloth, his skin had different shades, changing abruptly at puckered scars that showed where the flesh had been sewn together.

"Ah, Runt my boy, good job. I knew I could trust you, just knew it. I'm feeling better each moment. Haven't had such a nice hot bath in...in...hmm. How long was I in the deep freeze, Runt?"

"Hard to tell time boss, I quit counting after a few centuries of this place being locked down." Runt produced a heavy cloth tunic and pants from his pack, along with leather boots and a blood-stained apron. "Get dressed boss, we have places to be."

Gristle climbed to his feet and got dressed. He looked much more human with his clothes on. "My good belt? My keys? And my gold cleaver? I need my cleaver."

Runt produced the items from his bag, "Right here boss. Now let’s get moving. The Butcher is stirring, the larder is empty, the dungeon is a mess, and the stock yards are overflowing with critters. All sorts of stuff are messed up."

As they were walking out the door, Gristle noticed a cutting board with an assortment of chopped vegetables. "You even brought me a snack? How kind of you, Runt!" He grabbed a handful of chopped carrots before following Runt out the door and down a weed-filled street with uneven paving stones.

Looking around at the state of the city, Gristle frowned. The place was overgrown in some areas and a ruin in others. The only sound came from the stock yards, where thousands of beasts were confined in overflowing pens and corrals. "You say the curse is gone? We can open for business? But the city looks terrible! What has been going on out here, Runt? "

Runt began hobbling quickly down the road, "Not a hell of a lot. Things just got shittier every year. A hell of a long time passed. Then, recently, there was the mother of all explosions, and the curse was broken. The front gates are open, a few folks have come in and a few things have left."

"We have a new Baron. He's the one that broke the curse and opened the city. Even got accepted by You-Know-Who from up in the castle. Built himself a nice, tall tower. Probably compensating for something."

Gristle was excited, "Excellent. He sounds like a man of ambition."

Runt grunted, "Sure. But you know that doesn't mean a damn thing if the Butcher wakes up hungry and finds his whole damn dungeon empty. He's not picky about what he eats and won't care whether it's the Baron or a Guild Master. So, hurry your boiled ass up."

Gristle walked quicker to catch up. Not being eaten was something of a priority, “You’re correct in that. Please lead on, Runt. Let us go talk to the new Baron and pay our respects. Then we can put things to rights and hopefully not end up as the next feast."

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Billy got up with the dawn and was finishing his nourishing breakfast of an apple. He wrote a quick note to himself about the priority of getting a staff together. A cook was number one on the list. As he was contemplating lighting a fire to heat up tea, there was an insistent rapping at the door and then into the room walked a man with mis-matched hands, and wearing a dirty apron.

"Greetings, your excellency. My great apologies for such a rude invasion of your abode, but there is something of an emergency and we need your aid."

Billy set down the iron tea kettle, walked slowly over to a chair and sat. No one was trying to kill him, but he was mentally adding bodyguards to his list. He eyed the invaders; one was obviously just a servant; he barely gave the boy a look. The tall one though, he examined. His face looked like a boiled potato and there were some odd discolorations to his skin. The golden cleaver he wore at his waist didn't go unnoticed. Billy's last odd visitor had dumped a pile of gold on his table, so he was going to give this one a chance.

"You've got a minute to tell me the emergency. Then I kick your ass out the door."

Gristle nodded and revised his opening speech to something shorter. A shame, it was a nice speech, "Ah, well, one of your Dungeon Lords is about to wake up. If the Butcher awakes, and has no food or material to make creatures for his dungeon, he'll break out, and come kill you. Then kill everyone else he can find until something kills him." He paused after that.

Billy nodded, "Not bad. Short and to the point. So, I'm dead and one of my dungeons isn't producing profit. Neither is good." Out of the corner of his eye Billy saw the boy who came in with the freak-show-renegade light the fire and put the tea kettle on. Then he began slicing fruit and cheese he found in the larder. Billy turned back to the speaker, "Ok, take a few more minutes and give me the details and how we solve this."

Gristle exhaled. He'd been worried he wouldn't get to explain, "Your city has several dungeons. One of those is The Pit of the Butcher. The Butcher of Gadobhra is its current lord. We need to get his dungeon running before he wakes or he will throw a tantrum like a small child deprived of a toy. And we will all die."

"The most pressing issue is the stockyards. They are running over with livestock that needs to be slaughtered and tossed into the dungeon to get things running. Dungeons are complex eco-systems that need a lot of magic and materials to keep them running. The Butcher uses meat and bone as his raw material. Lots of meat and bone. Tons of it every day."

Billy held up a hand, "So, you need a butcher, or a crew of butchers. And then we can get the dungeon working, and adventurers can go exploring inside for loot, experience, and horrible death. It that the basic idea?"

Gristle nodded, "Yes, your excellency. You've rendered things down nicely. Only probably a lot more death, and less loot. The Pit is challenging."

Runt placed a small table between the two and set up tea cups and snacks. He poured the tea and offered cups to each, starting with Billy. Billy took a quick look at him, nodded his thanks, and didn't seem to notice anything odd." Good job on the tea. Are you available to take a message for me?"

Runt nodded. Billy wrote a quick note and handed it to him. "Go find Ozzy in the village of Sedgewick, three miles up the road. Give him the note and tell him I need him up here immediately for a small job that needs his expertise."