'The Boss' POV

I didn't expect Terris, and the Greenhorn, to come back so soon, nor the damn brat to still be alive. Either some one's report this morning messed up, or that kid had a lucky break. Either way, more money for me.

Stepping out of my tent, it's clear that they've returned. The big question though is, why is the Greenhorn driving the wagon, and why the hell is Terris wearing a cloak all of a sudden, ain't it a bit to hot for that? Something is wrong, only way to explain it, and they're trying to cover it up some. I really need to see what's up before any rumors start to spread.

Curator POV

Looks like we've got a decent audience as we draw up to camp. That's good. They'll see what happens, and it'll break their morale. A fighting force with no morale has already lost. Seeing a better dressed individual starting to walk to the wagon, it doesn't take much to figure that this is the leader of this band, but doesn't hurt to confirm.

"Paul, please stop the wagon, but don't get off it, let that guy come closer. That's your old 'boss' right?" (Curator)

Seeing Paul calmly pull the reins to stop the beast pulling the wagon and giving a slight nod, it's clear that guess was right on the money. The boss of a gang always has to be flashy and showy every where it seems. Gotta have the best things so people know he's better than them or something. Arrogant prick. Ah, I shouldn't think poorly of the soon to be dead and shredded.

Seeing that monstrous man grow closer his face red, although, I'm not sure if from heat, sudden exercise, or holding in anger, I can only think it's kind of like a tomato.

"Terris, Greenhorn, yer back pretty damn quick. It go okay or are the beasts gonna be eating well tonight?" (Boss)

"Oh, they'll be eating well alright, but not how you think 'boss'." (Paul)

With that slight taunt from Paul, a wicked smile spreads on the 'boss's' face. With a quick step forward, he'd grab the front of the wagon, winding back to punch Paul, only for the Terrisuit to jerk violently toward him. The unnatural movement catches him off guard as the Poppits start to burst forth from the former slaver. Almost like a flow of iridescent fur, claws, teeth and mandibles. 'Hands' gripping onto the boss only for those fingers to shred apart resulting in the claws and mandibles of tens of the smaller Poppits to clamp into the boss. With a horrified shriek, of terror, and pain, he'd fall off the wagon, pulling the repurposed corpse atop him. People watching from the camp would slowly start running forward.

Stolen story; please report.

"It seems it's time to really get the show started then!" (Curator)

With a simple mental command, the Poppits filling the wagon surge out, flowing around and through the bars, and holes and gaps in the covering canvas. The people from the camp seeing this are understandably shaken. Then I stow the cloak covering the Terrisuit into storage, and they see the husk that was their former partner in crime, as dozens of Poppits properly surge forth shredding what remains of the skin and descending on the Boss in a frenzy of gnashing, teeth, claws, and mandibles that would make popular culture versions of the piranha seem as tame as a cow. Ah, those horrified looks of the slavers, priceless. The further panic as they see the sand flow with how many of my lil noodleboys are rushing toward them right at the surface even better.

Calling out to the camp as best I can over the screams, shrieks, and wails of the Boss, I call out to the slaver scum.

"Okay you scum buckets. You get a few choices here. One, lay down your arms, be judged by me, and maybe live, or at least be put down quickly. Two you fight, and die in a way like your boss there, or maybe even that Terrisuit I just lost, depending on how much you piss me off. Three, run away, but, if only one runs you get to live and not be judged. Buuuut if more than one of you does, all the runners die like your boss. Oh, and where are my manners after you've brought all these things to me. I am Curator, you have wronged the people I've welcomed into my domain by hurting their friends and trying to hurt them. That is not something I will easily tolerate." (Curator)

Vahlu POV

Hearing the screams, it's hard not to get some grim satisfaction in that evil being consumed by their own arrogance, quite literally. Coming out from under the bench for the wagon as I hear Curator's commands boom out to the camp, I'd help up the mudscale who was hiding under there with me.

"Come on, lets start heading toward the camp. There is nothing they can do to hurt us, and I'll need your help to calm your people so we can save as many as possible." (Vahlu)

Helping the shaking fellow up, I can't help but feel a shred of pity. The mudscales always were a gentle people, so this violence must be fairly scaring for them.

"How can you be so calm with the screaming, the the threats?" (Mudscale)

"Because, Curator is venting their wrath at these....things...that dared threaten us, and who harmed you. Curator is....different. They aren't like the old stories of the cores that try to enslave, or just wantonly murder. They took in the entire Ocher Sandscales, names a few of us, changing us like you see here, and providing us water and food. Teaching us ways to use our resources better, and even doing what they can to make our lives better. Now get up, I know this is scary, but it's only for a bit. Trust me, it'll be better soon." (Vahlu)