The Gentleman and the Beast

Highreach gleamed like a jeweled crown under lanternlight. To the common folk, it was a city of order and safety. To Lord Victor Benedicte, it was a stage. From his carriage window, he offered the city his polished smile - the one the people had grown to trust. The smile of their good man.

Inside the carriage, however, sat Hans.

The brute’s back hunched awkwardly, crystals jutting into the roof. He gnawed at one jagged shard, drool pooling in his lap, and muttered in his gravel-deep voice. “Victor… it itch. The dust makes me itchy.”

Victor kept his eyes on the ledger in his lap. “Yes, Hans. That happens when you consume Essence Dust by the fistful.”

Hans frowned, scraping at the glowing veins running down his arms. “But it tastes good.” He paused, squinting in concentration. “Like… rocks. Sweet rocks.”

Victor let out a long breath. “Yes. Sweet rocks. Do refrain from dripping on the upholstery.”

The carriage slowed. Outside, angry voices echoed down the alley. A deal gone sour. The guildmaster’s men were waiting.

Victor snapped his ledger shut and slid it into his coat. “Hans, do be a dear and stretch your legs.”

Hans brightened. “I jump?”

Victor gave a thin smile. “Yes. Jump.”

The brute thundered out of the carriage, the ground cracking under his weight. The thugs shouted, blades flashing. Hans tilted his head, then grinned wide.

He leapt.

The cobblestones shattered as he landed in their midst. One man flew screaming into a wall, bones breaking with a wet crunch. Hans grabbed another by the ankles and swung him in a wide arc, slamming him into two companions before hurling him like a sack of grain down the alley.

Victor raised his gloved hand, fingers twitching as invisible threads of will wrapped around Hans’s limbs. The monstrosity jerked like a puppet, spinning, his massive arm catching a man across the jaw with enough force to tear it free. Blood sprayed the stones.

“Left, Hans,” Victor murmured.

The brute lurched sideways, bowling over two more.

“Now throw.”

Hans snatched up a body - living or dead, Victor couldn’t be bothered to check - and hurled it through a stack of barrels. Wood splintered. The alley reeked of blood and Essence dust.

The last thug dropped his sword, stumbling backward. Victor strolled forward, calm as though walking through a garden. His smile was perfect. Warm. Inviting.

“You see,” he said smoothly, “my associates and I were negotiating. And I am deeply offended by poor manners.”

He flicked two fingers. Hans froze mid-stride, crystals glowing faintly, awaiting command. The thug whimpered, staring up at the drooling brute.

“Tell your guildmaster,” Victor whispered, voice velvet over steel, “that Lord Benedicte honors his bargains… and his monsters.”

The man fled, sobbing.

Hans blinked, then looked down at Victor with wide eyes. “Victor… I fight good?”

Victor brushed a fleck of blood from his sleeve. “Yes, Hans. You fought magnificently.”

Hans grinned, teeth red. “I jump good too.”

Victor chuckled softly, though his mind was already elsewhere. This dance in Highreach was wearing thin - bribes, threats, silencing fools. He reached into his coat, fingers brushing the folded reports inside. Whispers of lands across the mountains.

Kazyr.

A place where Essence veins were said to burn so vast and bright they lit the caverns like suns. A place with enough crystal to glut the world.

He smiled - this time sharp, cold.

“Come, Hans,” Victor said, stepping back toward the carriage. “We’ve work to do. And perhaps soon… a voyage to plan.”

Hans shuffled behind him, ducking through the doorframe with an awkward scrape of crystal against wood. “Do they have rocks there?” he asked hopefully.

Victor’s eyes gleamed. “Oh yes, Hans. Sweet rocks. More than you could ever eat.”

Hans clapped his massive hands together, giddy as a child. “I jump so good there.”

Victor’s smile returned, warm and perfect once more. “Yes,” he whispered. “You will.”