“Yeah, yeah,” Eugene muttered, straightening his jacket. “Let’s go meet your favorite person in the world. I’m sure he’s thrilled to find out you’ve declared yourself karma incarnate.”
Krungus smirked, pushing the doors open with a flourish. “Karma is an illusion, Eugene. Justice, however, is not. I am simply the hand that delivers it.”
Eugene followed, his steps slow, his tone dry. “Sure, but don’t you think the universe does a pretty good job of wrecking people all on its own? You don’t need to pile on—it’s like kicking a falling rock and calling yourself a sculptor.”
Krungus glanced back, unimpressed. “The universe is sloppy. I, however, am precise.”
Eugene raised an eyebrow. “Right. Precision. That’s exactly what I think of when I see a guy shouting at cobblestones.”
Krungus ignored him, striding over towards the staircase with his usual air of dramatic purpose. Eugene trailed behind, muttering under his breath, “Here’s hoping I’m not the one who gets flattened by karma today.”
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The Velvet Veil’s second floor was a marked improvement over the gaudy chaos below. Plush carpets muffled footsteps, and the walls were lined with understated tapestries—a faint attempt at sophistication that Krungus found mildly less offensive. Eugene, trailing behind him, was too preoccupied with the surreal situation to notice the decor.
“You sure we can just walk in?” Eugene whispered.
“No,” Krungus replied curtly. “But if he’s foolish enough to stop me, he’ll regret it.”
At the end of the hall stood a pair of double doors carved with swirling designs, their hinges gleaming like polished gold. Without pausing, Krungus raised a hand and muttered a spell. The doors swung inward with a creak that sounded almost reluctant, revealing a lavish office within.
Seated behind an enormous mahogany desk was Master Orvec. He was a heavyset man with a shaved head and a perpetual smirk that suggested he rarely encountered problems money couldn’t solve. He looked up from a ledger as Krungus and Eugene entered, his smirk deepening.
“Well, this is unexpected,” Orvec drawled. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“We’re about to,” Krungus said, striding forward with deliberate disdain. “Allow me to use small words so you can keep up: I am Krungus. I built this city. Yes, built. With magic. You know, that thing smarter people use to make the world better? And now, here you are, squatting in my masterpiece, running a business that’s one-half exploitation and one-half embarrassment.” He tapped his staff on the floor, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “But don’t worry. I’m here to help you understand just how badly you’ve screwed up.”
Orvec leaned back in his chair, his smirk faltering slightly. “Look, old man, I don’t know who you think—”
“Oh, you don’t know?” Krungus cut him off, widening his eyes in exaggerated surprise. “Shocking. You don’t strike me as the kind of man who knows much of anything, to be fair. But allow me to clarify: I am the architect of this city, the reason it exists at all. And you—” he gestured broadly at Orvec, his lip curling—“are like a rat that moved into the Grand Hall and decided to host cheese-tasting parties.”
Orvec leaned back in his chair, chuckling. “You? Built this city? You look like you crawled out of a crypt.”
“And yet I’m still more competent than the fraud who thought it wise to turn a sanctuary of enlightenment into a glorified carnival of depravity.” Krungus’s eyes gleamed dangerously. “You must be the least imaginative entrepreneur in history. A brothel? What’s next, a tavern inside a library? Perhaps a petting zoo in a graveyard?”
Orvec’s smirk faltered. “Look, old man, I don’t know who you think you are—”
“I think I’m the only person in this room with a functioning brain,” Krungus shot back, giving Orvec a once-over with an expression of exaggerated pity. “Though judging by the amount of effort you’ve put into ruining this place, I’d wager you’ve been saving all your energy for keeping that suit from splitting at the seams.”
Orvec’s smirk faltered as Krungus leaned in slightly, his voice dripping with mock curiosity. “Tell me, do you practice looking like a swollen tomato, or does it just come naturally? And that smirk—how do you manage to look both smug and constipated at the same time? Truly, you’re a man of rare talent.”
The other man opened his mouth to respond, but Krungus pressed on mercilessly. “You’ve turned the greatest monument to magical ingenuity into...this. A glorified tavern for debauchery. The original architects would weep to see their work defaced, though I suppose your appearance is enough to bring anyone to tears. Do you shave with a brick, or is that just the lighting?”
Eugene, standing awkwardly near the door, let out an involuntary snort. Orvec’s expression darkened.
“Careful,” Orvec said, his voice low and threatening. “I don’t take kindly to insults.”
Krungus raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because you’ve built an entire business model around them. Do you sell mirrors here, or is it too much of a liability for your ego?”
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Orvec slammed his hand on the desk. “Enough!”
“Agreed,” Krungus said, pulling a small scroll from the bag at his hip. The parchment was yellowed with age, its edges frayed, and the runes etched upon it shimmered faintly as he unrolled it.
“What’s that?” Orvec demanded, leaning forward suspiciously.
“Consider it...a message,” Krungus replied, unfurling the scroll. He cleared his throat, then began to read, his voice ringing with deliberate rhythm:
“Confusion breeds where greed resides,
Where truth is bent, and virtue hides.
For those who take and never give,
A life of puzzles they shall live.”
The air in the room seemed to thicken as he spoke, the runes on the scroll glowing brighter with each line.
“Deeds of vice shall turn to jest,
What you intend becomes a test.
Until you change your ways outright,
Misunderstanding reigns in sight.”
As Krungus finished, the scroll dissolved into a burst of glittering sparks that swirled around the room before vanishing with a faint pop. Orvec blinked, looking thoroughly unimpressed.
“That’s it?” he said. “Some mumbo jumbo and a bit of glitter? What’s next, a balloon animal?”
Krungus smirked. “Oh, you’ll see. Or rather, you won’t. That’s the fun part.”
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The effects of the curse became apparent almost immediately.
Minutes after Krungus and Eugene left the office, a wealthy merchant arrived at the Velvet Veil. Dressed in fine silks and exuding an air of pompous entitlement, he approached the receptionist and announced, “I seek entertainment.”
“Of course, sir,” the receptionist replied with a polished smile. “Right this way.”
The merchant was led to a room where several staff members waited expectantly. But instead of indulging his desires, they produced an assortment of props and began an elaborate game of charades. Confused but too proud to admit it, the merchant played along for hours, miming increasingly ridiculous scenarios while the staff applauded his “creativity.”
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A bard entered next, lute in hand and a roguish grin on his face. “I’m looking for inspiration,” he declared, clearly expecting the sort of inspiration that involved wine and companionship.
“Ah, perfect timing!” said a staff member, ushering him toward a small room filled with mismatched furniture and a variety of odd objects. “We’ve been waiting for the poetry consultant!”
“What?” the bard stammered, blinking in confusion.
“Your job,” the staff member said earnestly, “is to critique and improve the staff’s haikus. We’re revamping the ambiance.”
The bard opened his mouth to protest, but before he could get a word out, a young woman thrust a sheet of paper into his hands. “Does this adequately capture the fleeting nature of desire?” she asked, her tone serious. “Or does the metaphor about the swan feel forced?”
The bard stared at the paper, then at the staff member. “This isn’t what I—”
“Excellent, I’ll bring the next batch!” the staff member interrupted, bustling off. The bard spent the next three hours critiquing clumsy rhymes and trying to explain why a haiku about a pineapple wearing boots didn’t quite evoke the “mystical allure” they were going for.
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Then came the adventurers. A boisterous group of four, they swaggered into the Velvet Veil asking for “a good time.” They were promptly ushered into a room that had been hastily converted into a theater, where they were handed costumes and scripts.
“Wait,” one of them said, holding up a tattered page. “We’re...performing a play?”
“Improvisational theater!” a staff member chirped. “You’re the stars of tonight’s production.”
“But—”
“Places, everyone!”
The adventurers spent the next three hours fumbling through an avant-garde play about love, betrayal, and the tragic demise of a magical, talking abacus..
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Meanwhile, in his office, Orvec was dealing with his own problems. When he attempted to summon an emergency meeting with his staff, the words that came out of his mouth were perfectly coherent but consistently misinterpreted.
“We need to fix this!” he shouted, slamming his fist on the desk.
“Fix what?” asked his assistant. “Oh! Do you mean the plumbing? I’ll call a plumber right away.”
“What? No! I mean—wait, why is there a jousting arena being set up outside?”
“You said ‘unicorn jousting,’ sir,” the assistant replied.
“I most certainly did not!”
But it was too late; a group of workers was already unloading miniature lances and assembling what appeared to be a makeshift paddock.
The curse ensured that every attempt to hire outside help was equally disastrous. A mage arrived to “investigate” the strange happenings but ended up organizing a town-wide read-a-thon. A carpenter showed up to repair a broken door and somehow turned the lobby into a bakery, complete with fresh bread and complimentary croissants.
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Eugene and Krungus found a squalid, little cafe (with poor service and outdoor seating) within sight and observed the chaos from a safe distance. Eugene sat down on an old crate, clutching a tankard of watered-down ale, while Krungus ordered a “pile of eggs” and seemed like he may have had some peace for a moment.
“You really messed with that guy, huh?” Eugene said.
Krungus turned, his eyes gleaming. “Do you know what the best part of a good curse is, Eugene?”
“No, but I’m sure you’re gonna tell me.”
Krungus chuckled. “It’s not the suffering. It’s the lesson. You see, Orvec will have every opportunity to fix his situation. All he has to do is take responsibility for his actions, admit his wrongdoings, and reform his ways.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
Krungus shrugged. “Then he spends the rest of his days explaining why his brothel now doubles as an amateur theater and bakery. Either way, I feel a little better.”
Eugene shook his head, unable to suppress a grin. “You’re something else, man.”
“Of course I am,” Krungus said, settling into a chair. “Now, let’s see how long it takes Orvec to crack. My money’s on just after those profiteroles are finished baking.”