Spoke looked around him, his dark, nearly black eyes scanned over the men and women around him. A small squadron of twenty fighters of elite level for the clans. They were speaking with and trying to get to know the strengths of their thrust together squadron so they could beat be prepared.

He stood beside them, neither directly under them, nor leading them. His job was to accompany them and coordinate between this group and his clan. Their goal this evening would be to provide needed numerical backup to the small clan.

But Spoke and the higher ups knew that was only part of the reason. If the Clan could repel the whole force of the Black Hands, their position and standing would skyrocket. To a position far above the other clans. As that strength would mean that none in the city, but the city itself, could match them.

Spoke and his Momma, however, did not want this. They knew their clan would always hold a large amount of power simply because of Glora’s position as head. But as her children grew and became more accomplished, the clan expanded father than Glora ever wanted to. Drawing too much attention after all the things Glora did would more than likely result in chaos and destruction than what small safety a position like that would provide within the city.

The grey goblin shook his head in amusement, imagining his momma learning that her children had handled the guild with such ease that they would now have to face the whole wrath of the Black Hands organization, not just a branch.

But his thoughts were brought back to reality when a human man in scale male clapped, drawing their attention, before beginning their mission briefing.

****************************

The gnoll child of the Mad Gunman held their eyes closed and body still as consciousness returned to them. Without any outer display, she focused on her surrounding senses.

The smell of dried blood, iron and strong. Both originating from hers and a mix of others. There was no sound as the room she occupied was free of even a hiss of air movement. There was no light that hit their body, only the soft weight of a sheet compressing their naked and bandaged form.

The gnoll subtly began to flex and make micro movements of their limbs and muscles. Assessing the damage and treatment given her, which she only assumed was from her fellow furred sister. With a guess based off many, many, many other situations, she concluded she hadn’t been given magical means of healing. But stitching and mundane wrapping. A requirement from the matriarch no doubt.

Slowly, her heavy lids slid open, and she saw her sister staring down at her from a chair. Her legs were crossed as she silently worked on weaving a leather strip through the length of a familiar loincloth. Adding further length and coverage for it. As well as increasing the number of hidden places for darts.

“Welcome back Brother. Mother sssendsss her regardsss.” Her sharp, dark eyes with their reflective vertical pupils, not leaving her leather working. “That wasss an impressssssive disssplay of martial prowesssss. Even for the King of the Pitsss, Dagger Glora.”

Her tone was not monotone but was withholding emotions purposefully. The gnoll understood, at least she hoped she did, some of how the tabaxi was feeling.

Concerned, worried, fearful, and no small amount of anger. The gnoll had allowed them to nearly lose the battle. And if she was watching, would have had to withhold her desire to interfere on their behalf.

“… Tanny, did Mother… Tell you, hehe, my punishment?” The gnoll looked at her sister, feelings of frustration and shame marring her face more than the pain speaking brought.

The feline did look up then. Her eyes serious and curious. But she didn’t confirm if she knew it not. So, the gnoll squeezed their eyes shut and laid their head back down before allowing the words to slip free of her lips.

“I… I am, heeh, no longer named Dagger…” Her body trembled as she clenched up. “I, I wasn’t the dagger Matriarch would use in battle… I was the knife buried in her back by a trusted subordinate…”

The tabaxi froze then. The words seemingly meaningless or gibberish as she tried to parce them. And when the last piece of her emotional puzzle slipped together. Only the picture of a wrathful demoness was left.

The sandy fur that was so soft and beautiful in the desert sun, rose up as she did. No noise escaped from any of her movements. Not even when the leather thong was cast aside. The training of two decades, beaten and drilled into her, not failing her. Unlike the gnoll themself…

The larger child opened their eyes once more. To see the silent snarl and bared fangs. The look of a maddened priest when personally witnessing the blasphemy of the highest prepositions for their religion. She was the fur covered zealot who had discovered the one who defaced their temple with a bucket of clashing paints.

“You… What did you do?...” Her eyes blazed and grew closer as graceful strides brought her face to face to the gnoll. “How… How much did you lossse Da-…” Her eyes widened in realization as a dagger was drawn and brought to the gnoll’s throat. “That… That wasss the- the-“

“… The… The fund for, houh, the younglings’… The fund for their further preparations and items…” The gnoll’s words where barely audible as a burning hate burned within their chest. “Youngest sister’s gift of armor… Youngest brother’s fund for magical lessons… All earned by their own efforts… Entrusted to me to place in a safe place…”

The gnoll’s throat dried up. Their eyes burned and body shrunk away as their sister bared down on her like a tornado barreling over the dunes right at the gnoll.

****************************

Tanny didn’t want to believe it as she looked at the almost cowering gnoll. Her brother. The boy who had stood beside her for their entire lives. Who pushed her. Honed her. Bewitched and disgusted her.

This betrayer, this worthless, spineless waste of ever ounce and copper piece invested into him… She saw red in that moment as the images of her youngest siblings crying as nightmares haunted them. The smiles of pride and accomplishment when they brought home their first gold piece from contract work. The blushes of embarrassment when they were presented with their first bestowments.

She knew the tears her sister held back as she was presented with her first shield. And then her second. And the look of shock and amazement when Mother told her, that was only the first half.

She could feel pride in her youngest brothers as they displayed their belt creation to Glora. How she questioned them in each detail. How they made and accomplished the feat. And the look of astonishment when he was given a letter of acceptance to learn druidic magic abilities from the Mayor herself.

Tanny knew, as well as her mother, that the siblings came to her with fear and feelings of guilt. They had not earned these gifts. They were children, and these were far too great. She could feel the hot tears burning and running down her chest as they cried when she told them they had, many times over. Simply by the oaths of dedication and loyalty to the clan.

And she knew the relief they had felt when she proposed that if they still felt a need to give back, then they could save up part of a repayment. They would do posted jobs, assigned jobs and chores by their mother or her, and all that money would go to repay or be saved for the next instalment of upgraded gear, as they were still in their growing years.

Tanny knew how her siblings felt. And she knew Dag did as well. He knew the dedication their sister threw herself at training with. He knew and bled her himself. He helped her organize her first competition match against other fighters from the clans. And he was the one who taught the youngest how to use his cane for combat.

Yet he was so blinded by his phallic distracter, that a small fortune painstakingly earned over a year of hard work, was pissed away in the gutter he passed out in.

A wrath she didn’t know she could hold bellowed in her chest. One so like whenever the children would manage to drag out stories of times their mother strove to never disclose but couldn’t withstand the pleading gazes of her children.

“You… You…” Tanny’s tongue felt heavy and numb. Her jaw clenched hard enough to shatter stone. “You… You… You were ssstripped of your name… You have lossst more than that.” Her form drew closer, towering over the rugged face of the gnoll. “If you ssspeak of any of us asss sssiblingsss, before you regain a name… I will ssslit your worthlesssss ssstick from your body and hang it from the city gatesss.”

The gnoll’s eyes didn’t flinch. Tanny was only speaking the truth. He did not have any right to a claim of relation when clearly that relationship meant so little to them.

The shamed monk did not speak or acknowledge the threat. He was incredibly stupid, but not completely without merit. The tabaxi stood up slowly. Her form uncoiling from a pouncing stance as she retrieved her work in progress, and hurriedly finishing it to toss onto the laying gnoll.

He didn’t look at her. Only grunted a cowed thanks before she left the warehouse office with the faintest click of the door’s closing.

****************************

Glora sat in the same chair they had not moved from for hours. Their pistol was cleaned and replaced in its holster. Now, a triple barreled shotgun sat across their lap. The three ends holding a lovingly engraved dog head at each barrel’s tip. Creating the name's sake, Cerberus.

Slowly, they unhinged the break action, exposing the empty chambers. Glora’s hands flashed into a pouch in their blue leather coat. Retrieving three tubes of brass. The tips are stuffed with disposable paper wads and packed tight with cast lead.

Slowly, as if they were attempting to avoid causing damage, the wrinkled and boney fingers slipped one shell into each barrel.

“Fiole gets her slug. Ithe gets her heavy buck load. And Ilynce gets her bird load.” With each name muttered softly, it was followed by the gentle sliding of brass against the red tinted metal of the barrels.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Once the gun was loaded, Glora closed the barrels with a gentle click, and stroked the polished barrel with attentive love. Only for their holster to vibrate in a low, almost grumble.

“O’Re, you’se ain’t a pepperbox. Stop being childish.” They slipped into the tone of a mother then, chastising a pouting child.

As the silence and darkness of sunset closed in, their gaze shifted up and across the streets and rooftops. The shouting from inside the warehouse did nothing to distract the goblin from the estimates they were making.

“Nearly 200 Black Hand thieves, and six councilors… They’se truly are coming for full on war…” The goblin’s milky white eyes drifted slowly, doing a decent job of appearing to gaze at the sun before shifting back to the shotgun in their lap.

“Alright, I’se best get to baitin’.” They chuckled softly to themselves and stood up from their chair and returned to the depths of the warehouse to find their daughters. War was upon them. And they needed to be ready to slaughter.

****************************

When the Black Hands Council gathered across from the warehouse, they distributed their squads according to plan. 150 lookouts and snipers, with the remaining 50 elites directly under the councilmen.

“Do you all remember the plan?” The senior member of the council, Almar, spoke without looking back at the lesser behind him.

He had been the first to arrive at the location of all the guild. The high elf did not have the patience to wait for his companions to arrive at the same time. There was a desire burning inside him to see the Butcher. To see the hell spawn that was responsible for his current state.

“Ya daft bastard cunt…” The stout dwarven enforcer, Jewel, grunted. He stood just beside the senior councilman.

“Sir, we have been waiting for the sun to completely set. We have not forgotten ourselves.” The wood elven hunter, Lyphase, said from a stance of subordination. His wrists clasped behind his back and his oversized bow.

“The Shadowfell is waiting for us to send them the uppity clan. They are going to reward us handsomely for this donation.” The fallen aasimar, Ollya, said in a dull tone. Her eyes only tell of her desires as they glowed with a cold light of greed.

“Hehe… I cannot wait, to rend that pretending Alpha from groin to sternum...” The hunched gnoll cackled in his kinds’ tic. Wiping away the drool from his mouth as he fantasized about murdering the female gnoll, masking herself as a male.

The two leaders of the elite squad bowed in respect to the leader. Not speaking, but knowing they were expected to be ready.

“Squad Alpha will enter when darkness falls. Test their defenses and return before they can kill too many of you.” The wood elf spoke up again. Drawing his bow and stringing it while speaking. “Council Pairs will take the Wraith or Pit King. Senior will attack with the remaining elites. While the lookouts snipe and watch for reinforcements.”

The council all stood ready in their own ways. Some waiting with anticipation, some being held back only by the limitations of their abilities as the final rays of the sun dipped behind the walls and earth.

With a wave of the high elf’s hand, Squad Alpha leaped from the roof in sync, and all swallowed by shadows to appear instantly outside the doors of the warehouse.

****************************

Sly, a 32-year-old half elf, appeared beside his squad mates. As the team leader, he was expected to be the first inside and last to leave. His trained eyes took in all the world around him. Two decades of brutal training gave him the knowledge needed to quickly map out a path to the rafters.

First, he, and next his second, dashed around the doors and into the shadows of crates and pillars. Sly slithered up the rafter as his men all spread out across the 80 feet of open space before opening up into a large, open square with entrances coming out as if a plus was laid across the square.

They had entered the front door, expecting it to be trapped. If it was, Delta team would enter through the windows of the office branches. Where there were offices and the sewer entrance, instead of an opening for goods.

Sly’s eyes scanned across the dark. He was sharp, in top form like all the rest of his men. Everyone who was participating in this raid was given a meal filled with meat and bread. Something they only earned after returning from or going on, a mission of extreme importance.

The guild would use starvation as a training incentive and a way to induce obedience and dependence on the guild. As they swore an oath to only steal when ordered. If they were to be discovered stealing food, they would be tortured and executed without hesitation by any other member of the guild. Because if you discovered someone else stealing food, you would receive a reward of three times whatever they stole to feed themselves.

This training style was abusive and horrific. But it was over half a millennium old, and proved to produce the tools the guild, or, at the time, the cult, needed. And Sly’s eye for finding every mistake his opponents, and guild mates, made, enabled him to rise through the torturous ranks.

And he watched his men slink through the warehouse. No sound, no major movement of air to give away their positions. They were moving as near to perfect as mortals could be expected to.

He followed them. His second twenty feet over in the same rafters as him. They each watched over the eight. Silent messages passing between them all as they approached the first difficult part of their infiltration. The central opening.

Sly and his second split, leading four of the team around either side. They were looking for traps, people, weapons, anything that told them that the army of thieves outside would be met with any surprises if they were required to storm the building.

Slowly and carefully, in less than three minutes after entering the building, the whole team had swept the front entrance and a large portion of the central opening. And now stood together across from the single doors to the offices.

The squad moved forward slowly, forming a half circle about thirty feet from around the door.

The second came to Sly and they spoke mentally for a moment when a voice echoed forth from the door. A small goblin in a wide, black hat, a full body length blue coat, a revolver cradled in their hands like a newborn babe.

All ten heads blinked as they had not registered the goblin before them. It couldn’t have moved that quickly to be there. Nor did any of the men sense a flux of teleportation or magic. It was as if the goblin was one second, unnoticed by all their senses, and then suddenly they were completely aware of its presence.

Without a shouted order, or a heartbeat to wait and hesitate, every assassin moved as water. Taking cover and drawing their bows, crossbows or daggers. The second and Sky dove. The second behind a metal crate. While Sly caught and hid himself on the top shelf of the nearest one. Just a step down from his spot in the rafters.

With the speed of long trained soldiers, the assassins launched their attacks with precision and deft accuracy. Two daggers, four bolts and four arrows were launched all within three heartbeats of each other.

Sly watches his dagger spin through the air. Last to reach in the volley. And watched as the goblin moved with a speed and grace born from unrelenting and unending dedication to mobility. His body turned, ducked and spun around the projectiles. Ending in the same spot he just stood, but nine projectiles dug into the door behind him. The tenth caught in their bleeding hand.

“You’se boys are- “He wasn’t given the room to speak as the second volley came screaming through the air towards them.

The goblin allowed them to keep up their volley, watching from every place where things were launched. None caught the green fiend the second time. But the third did. A perfectly thrown dagger from Sly pierced into the shoulder of the goblin as they accepted the bombardment with silence.

The blade sank into the leather armor below it and lodged there. But the goblin did not allow any physical sign of pain to rise to their face. His eyes shifted up to the shelf where the dagger was thrown and with a blur of movement, he jumped, climbed and swung themselves up to the position from where the team leader stood before leaping to his current spot.

With a swing of their arm that left only the soft trail of magical glinting from the revolver’s frame, three shots rang out.

Sly was diving down from the shelf as two bullets slammed into his chest from above. A third bullet slammed three feet to the left, striking one of the soldiers in the shoulder, causing him to drop his crossbow in agony.

Sly’s last experience before his soul left his body, was the sensation of hot pain and his face meeting stone.

****************************

Tanny stood beside her nameless brother, watching from hidden arrow slits in the office walls as their mother danced through the air and across the floor, crates and rafters. The siblings were always astonished by their mother’s prowess in battle.

To them, she was a goddess of war and destruction that brought fire, gunpowder and smoke to all her enemies. It was a maddening thought that both the gnoll and tabaxi shared. Their mother had only grown slower with her years.

The goblin out in the chamber was a ghost of death. One that Tanny tried to emulate in her title as the Wraith of Glora, or Glory’s Wraith. Both her own dexterity and shadow abilities enabled her to move with grace almost none could match. But her brother could move with a sprint and dash that beat their mother without effort. That raw speed, however, did not correlate into true dexterity and ability.

All eleven sets of living eyes watched with horror as the goblin passed from the rafters into the shadows below. Every one of them lost sight of the goblin.

The well-trained men didn’t panic. They all leaped from their hiding spots and rushed to a defensible corner of the office and warehouse.

Three shots rang out again. Two burrowing into the back of the already injured man. The third slamming into the man just to his left, catching him in the shoulder before the goblin ducked into the shadows again.

The gnoll growled in frustration as Tanny felt her chest fill just slightly with pride as she watched her mother slither through and between boxes and shadows without notice as the men started to panic. The remaining eight men pulled crates together in a hasty barricade against the Butcher.

With a bit of smugness. Her finger rose and pointed at their mother, braced against the side of a crate, casually reloading their pistol and tucking the brass into her pocket. The gnoll suppressed a growl of annoyance as the action started again.

All the men were barely exposed. Just their eyes and hooded heads peeked over the boxes, projectiles ready and launched at the crate the shots originated from. When they launched volleys, chasing the shadowed goblin, no one could tell if they hit or even fired at the right target. They only knew that two more men were dead, and a third injured.

The six men were staring between each other, bewildered and jittery. One of the men growled and hissed an exploitive as he withdrew a bundle of explosive charges. He stood up quickly after lighting the fuse and tried to hurl it in the direction of most crates.

With a toss that brought his head just above the lip of the crates, three shots slammed home. One caught the lip of the crate and flew off, the other two dug into the top of his skull as the bundle flew overhead, exploding and sending shrapnel down from above.

The siblings watched, having lost sight of her from the last volley. Watched as their mother confidently walked closer to the crates, smoke and ash rising behind her. Her steps were silent, unruffled as the smoldering wreckage of worthless items lit and reflected from her reloading of the pistol.

With all the effort of lifting a coffee cup, she jumped the crates overlooking the remaining five men. They were looking between each other and the dead men who had dared to peak up over the edge, and silently trying to convince each other that someone needed to act. The team’s second in command was the first to steal himself and turn to look up at the shadowed figure of the Crazed gunman. And received a single shot to the skull.

Two more dug into the man beside him as she fell back off the crates, disappearing once again as the men tried to stab her. They climbed up and over the crates, trying to get at the demon before it could vanish. Only to be met with the end of a Tri barreled shotgun, and the fire breathing bites of their shells.

****************************

Glora opened the action of Cerberus, catching the three expended cases with a single wave of their hand. This gun was not the most versatile or powerful of the weapons they had created over the years. But this piece was their most recent creation. One using the skills of all their children in some shape or form. While the revolver in their holster could rival the power of the shotgun at their greatest damage capacity, it did not hold the same meaning as this to them. Yes, your childhood friend and war buddy who had been with you for half a century was most certainly the greatest friend someone could ask for. It still was not the fruit of your own creation, the closest thing you could ever have to a true creation of yourself when you no longer had that ability naturally.

The projectile riddled door pushed open as their eldest children walked out. Both hid their looks of awe well.

“Pick you’se jaws off the floor. You’se two need to be ready. Spoke’se will be-”

Their words were cut off as the sound of urban warfare started from all directions. The goblin grinned madly as the whole family turned towards the front door, where a tiny goblin returned to visibility. A banjo of magnificent quality gripped in his hands, and a rapier hovering beside him.